I’m ready to face the shame of the plain white fliers as I leave third period. I bump into someone standing right outside the doorway. He isn’t moving, and his back is to me, so I try to weave around him. Only there’s another person just standing in the hallway. As if my day can’t get any worse. I push my way through. It feels like everyone is just stopped.

I see a trail of red on the floor.

Oh god, she actually killed someone, I think, looking around.

There’s red on the hallway, like bloody footprints. I stand on my tiptoes to see above people’s heads.

The fliers.

They have bloody red hand-prints on them. People are snapping pictures of it. My mouth falls open. My phone has dozens of messages filled with pictures of fliers just like this from every hallway in the school.

Shelly: This scared the SHIT out of me after class.

Iz: I am both terrified and HYPE

Fraya: It’s a little dangerous, don’t you think? Someone could slip on the paint. It stained my shoes too

Shelly: Oh, guess it wasn’t you then Fraya. Good work whoever then!

Someone tracked down every bland, white poster and smeared it with what I’m pretty sure is red paint but looks an awful lot like bloody hand-prints. There’s a set of red footprints leading down the hallway, and I have a sinking suspicion they would lead me straight for the cafeteria table we’re using soon to sell tickets.

“Ms. Park,” I head Principal Crowe call my name and wave me over.

She’s standing near some of the red footprints and scowling.

“Was this your doing?” she asks. “This wasn’t approved by Administration. It’s going to take forever to clean…” She shakes her head.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know who did this,” I say with a shrug. “And I was in class the whole time.”

I know it’s a lie. I think I know exactly who did this.

I don’t see Bec until lunchtime. I’m sitting at the ticketing table by myself (somehow the other volunteers got the wrong schedules even though the one in the group chat was fine—big surprise), trying to deal with the long line of juniors waiting to buy their tickets.

Bec clears her throat as she cuts the line to drop a bag of chips on the table. I raise a brow.

“I don’t like sour cream flavored chips,” she says with a shrug. “Want them?”

“Oh, sure, thanks,” I say, and my stomach grumbles with longing.

I pull the chips closer to me and motion for the guy behind Bec to come forward.

“Shouldn’t you have more people for this?” she asks.

“I should,” I reply, and the irritation slips through.

I shoot her an apologetic look as I give the guy a ticket and some change.

“There was some… confusion over the schedules today,” I explain. “But I can handle it.”

I try not to look at the long line of impatient teens. Bec slings her bag under the table and pulls up a chair next to me.

“How much are tickets?” she asks.

“Ten dollars.”

She whistles and mutters something. It almost sounds like, “What a scam,” but I can’t be certain. She waves at the line.

“Over here!” she calls. “How many tickets?”

I glance over as she takes the money and slips it into the cash box. She still has traces of red paint under her fingernails.

The line moves a lot quicker with two of us, and I actually have time to inhale the chips before the bell rings. My heart is pumping like I’ve been running a marathon (and I’ve probably been sweating like it too), but Bec still looks as calm as ever.

“Thanks,” I say. “For the help.”

Bec just shrugs in response. “Better than my usual lunch plans,” she replies, and then chuckles at my raised brow. “I usually just eat by myself. Or vandalize school property.” She winks, which makes me (mostly) sure the last sentence was a joke.

“Oh, well… thanks for the help with the posters,” I add.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course,” I say with a serious expression. “It could have been any school delinquent who’d upgrade those posters.”

“Kids these days,” Bec tsks with a small smile.

She stands up and grabs her bag.

“Well, I guess I’d better get to class,” she says, giving my shoulder a slight nudge. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah!” My voice goes a little too high on that one, and I clear my throat. “Oh, wait. You didn’t buy a ticket.”

“You mean I have to pay after doing over half the work?” she asks with feigned shock.

I hesitate. Technically, every ticket sale counts. But she really does have a point. But Shelly might be upset… if she found out.

“I’m joking,” Bec interrupts my line of thought by waving a ticket in my face. “And before you ask, I already put my money in the box.”

I give a weak smile.

“You should have told me,” I say. “Maybe I would’ve given you a discount.”

“Well, just buy me a drink at The Bash and we’ll call it even.”

My heart is doing a weird flip in my chest, and I’m not sure why. I’m also not sure why I call out when she’s turning to leave:

“Are you, uh, going with anyone?”

“Yeah, me and all my bffs at school,” she scoffs. “Why, are you trying to ask me out?”

My face flushes and I try to pssh my way out of it. I can’t take my eyes away from hers for too long though.

“I was just… wondering if I was going to meet up with you,” I say. “I mean, I’ll probably be really busy with setup and monitoring sales and music and—”

My voice trails off as she smiles. I can’t help but think how it seems to light up her whole face. And I feel the corners of my mouth tugging up too as every thought in my brain seems to fade into white noise.

“I’ll see you there, Ash,” she says. “Try to take a few deep breaths before then.”

I’m pretty sure I forgot to breathe until I was sitting in class the next period.