There is something magical about empty hallways and silent classrooms. The wrongness of being so alone in such a large building fills the space with eerie possibilities. If a place that is designed to hold thousands of people can be this deserted in just a few hours, maybe anything can happen. Who’s to say that a dragon isn’t napping under the stairwell, a húli jīng isn’t haunting the classrooms, sewing mischief in the desks and chairs, or a jiangshi isn’t resting till nightfall to drain the qi of its next victim? Not that I believe in fairytales, but it’s more fun to imagine a malevolent spirit griffiting the south wall again than rambunctious teenagers.

In an attempt to finish all my grading before the weekend, I stay in the school later than usual on Friday afternoon and end up being the only teacher left. Well, almost. My heart rate rises in excitement as Mr. Wright walks towards me like a British runway model. He dressed up for the poetry slam and Ms. Hart’s sure to be impressed by his sharp tweed blazer and blue-as-his-eyes sweater. He looks almost too perfect, even his unkempt curls appearing purposeful. Does he never have a bad skin day? When he reaches me, he holds out his arms in show and, smirking, asks, “Like what you see?”

“Yes,” I say honestly. “You look great.”

His smile grows more natural and perhaps a bit embarrassed as he drops his gaze. However, it fades quickly as he inspects me. “Should we stop by your place to get a coat?” he asks in concern.

“Why would I need a coat?”

“It looks like it’s going to be a cold night.” He glances at his phone, opening his weather app to double check.

“Yeah, but we’ll be inside the whole time. I’ll be alright.”

“Actually…” He shuffles guiltily. “...Evalyn told me she’s performing pretty early in the set and then won’t be staying so late, because she wants to be home before Jimmy goes to bed. So I thought maybe we could go check out the Clearview night market afterwards. Together.”

“Oh.” A slow smile spreads across my face despite myself. I should be disappointed that their date night will be cut short, but instead I’m imagining Mr. Wright gleefully tasting all the novelties at every food stall. “In that case, I’ll just run back to my classroom. I have an extra jacket in there.” His pleased, blinding grin in response to my acquiescence should be criminal. “Save your cheek work out for the slam,” I tease as he nods doopily.

It’s a short walk back to my classroom, and I spend longer trying to locate my keys than getting there. Just as I’m sliding them into the door lock, a muffled screeching of metal against metal startles me and my keys slip out of my grasp. My head whips around, trying to find the source of the sound, but the hallway is empty. I call out, “Mr. Wright? Are you there?” But no one answers. Cautiously, I check through the small door window of the room next to mine. Darkness. Looking into the room opposite mine also yields nothing. Did I imagine it?

A slight shine a few doors down catches my eye. That’s Mrs. Neilson’s classroom. My brows push together almost painfully as I step close enough to see the bizarre source of the gleam: ice. It fills the strike plate and covers the metal deadbolt and knob like frost. The door hangs slightly ajar, unable to close completely with ice pushing the latch inwards. The metal is cold to the touch, but melts quickly under the heat of my skin. 

Slowly, I push the door inwards and step into the classroom. I squint in the darkness, my eyes adjusting to the gloom too slowly. Directly across from me, behind Mrs. Neilson’s desk, one of the drawers of her filing cabinet is open. The flimsy metal creaks with even the tiniest of pushes. This must have been what I heard, but who would be rifling around Mrs. Neilson’s things in the dark? My heart thunders in my chest with the possibility that the culprit might still be in the room with me. Slowly I back up and flick on the lights, now squinting against the sudden brightness.

The room is empty at first glance. Unfortunately for the burglar, there aren’t many places to hide and because fairytales aren’t real, I easily find them. Hiding under the teacher’s desk is a teenager with auburn hair and white lace tattoos.

“Miss Lynx?” I cock my head to the side, bewildered to find my student huddled under the desk with her hand covering her mouth and knees tucked in close to her body. 

Her large crystalline eyes fill with fearful tears as we stare at each other in mutual astonishment. “Ms. Huang—”

“You look really uncomfortable.”  I hold out my hand. “Come out from under there.” Tentatively, Miss Lynx accepts my help, crawling until she has enough room to stand. Guiltily, she won’t meet my eyes. I study her carefully while I allow her to calm down. What in the world could my favorite honors student be doing in an on-level teacher’s room after hours? Nothing innocent like making out with her girlfriend, clearly. “Well, this is most irregular,” I say eventually.

Miss Lynx bites her lip, not offering up any sort of explanation for her behavior.

“What were you looking for in here?” I gesture to the filing cabinet. There’s only one conceivable answer. “Helping a friend, maybe?” I sigh internally when she remains silent. “I can’t let you leave until I have a look in that backpack,” I gesture over her shoulder.

She clenches it tighter, hesitating. “I’m in a lot of trouble, aren’t I?” she whispers, more timid than I’ve ever seen her.

I hate punishing students, but she is technically trespassing on school property and possibly helping a fellow student cheat. “I haven’t decided yet.” I hold out my hand, waiting and she reluctantly passes me the bag. It takes a bit of time going through all her various notebooks and binders, but I don’t find any physical evidence of theft. I find a couple handwritten notes stuffed in the front compartment which I try not to read too closely after ensuring they aren’t test answers, but rest of the bag’s contents are benign objects: her tampons, pencil box, and bottle filled with chilled water. “Now the phone.”

Poor girl. From the expression on her face, I can tell she didn’t expect me to think of this. Why teenagers think all adults are technological nincompoops is beyond me. After unlocking the phone, she passes it to me.

“Mei?” Mr. Wright calls from the hallway, no doubt coming to look for me when I didn’t come back immediately.

“In here!” I call as I scroll through her snap chat and then open her recent texts. I hear him come into the room and his footsteps cut short, but I don’t look up. I’m too distracted by Miss Lynx’s most recent conversation with Mr. Delvaux. A string of images confirms that she sent him answers to my old unit three test—now used by Mrs. Neilson for her standard classes—but what catches my eye is sandwiched in his response to her asking, “We even?”

“Nw qtpi I’m finna pwn those wolves xo”

“Smh just keep the sob away from Adan”

“What are you doing in my room?” A flinch violently racks my body and I nearly drop Miss Lynx’s phone in shock. Whirling around, I come face to face with the last person on earth I expect to see—my collaborative teacher glaring at me with distrustful contempt. Worse still, Mr. Wright is nowhere to be seen as she slams the door behind herself and marches right up to us.

“Mrs. Neilson,” I begin, voice miraculously even, but heart trilling like Mr. Wright playing The Violin Sonata in G Minor in the face of more twists than a trigonometric function. “One of my students seems to have—”

She snatches the phone from my hand, cutting me off, and turns her scowl on the open messenger app. “Cheating,” she scoffs. “You’re in big trouble, missy. Don’t worry, Mei, I’ll take care of this matter.”

“Wait, Miss Lynx isn’t the type of person who would cheat,” I panic, worried that Mrs. Neilson may insist on suspending both students. Detention and a zero on the upcoming test for Mr. Delvaux should be sufficient. “I’m sure she felt pressured into helping out her friend for some very compelling reason, right?” I turn back to Miss Lynx, trying to encourage her with soft eyes to tell me the whole story, even if I can guess at least half of it. If the poor girl looked worried before, she looks downright terrified now, visibly shaking as she glances between me and Mrs. Neilson nervously.

“Helping someone cheat is the same as cheating,” Mrs. Neilson says coldly. “You should know that.”

“Let’s all just take a moment to calm down.” I reach for Miss Lynx’s phone with a pacifying gesture, half convinced that Mrs. Neilson may break it with how tightly she’s gripping it. She pulls her arm roughly away, almost yeeting the thing across the room. “What are you doing here so late anyways?” I go for tactic two: distraction.

Mrs. Neilson presses her lips into a firm line, clearly about to tell me to mind my own business, but at the last minute she appears to change her mind and says, “I forgot to lock my door. Since it’s the weekend, I came back. Seems I was right to be worried.”

How convenient—and unfortunate—for Miss Lynx.

“Thanks for catching the intruder, but I can take it from here.” When I don’t know how to respond, she growls, “Did you not hear me? Get out of my classroom.”

I really don’t want to leave my student alone with an enraged Mrs. Neilson. I’ve never seen her so angry. Resentful and petty, sure, but not quite so directly rude. Plus, I thought we were finally starting to get along. “Why don’t we escort Miss Lynx out of the building?”

“I’d like to have a private word with this student first.”

I frown, bothered beyond reason that Mr. Wright isn’t here to back me up. “Miss Lynx,” I put my back to Mrs. Neilson, not getting anywhere talking with her. “I need you to work with me here. Why did steal those test answers for Mr. Delvaux?”

She wets her lip and rubs her eyes furiously, looking back up at me with anxious redness. “I— I— didn’t mean to do any harm,” she sniffs as tears start to fall. “Barrett’s an idiot anyways who doesn’t care about school. He just doesn’t want to be kicked off the football team for failing math.”

“Then he should study more,” Mrs. Neilson retorts.

“Mrs. Neilson,” I turn on her, deciding I’ve had enough of her unnecessarily abrupt tone. “I must insist that you school your emotions while dealing with students. Yes, Miss Lynx has broken several rules and will receive discipline, but as teachers we must treat them with compassion. Please.”

I expect her to get defensive. I’m proud that I was able to control the volume and tone of my speech reasonably well, but in my heart I’m irritated which I know must show in my face. Naturally she’ll sense my hypocrisy and retaliate. At least then her anger will be directed at me rather than Miss Lynx, but… she doesn’t react the way I expect. Instead her eyes grow very large, filled with hurt but also shame. It’s an expression I’ve never seen from Mrs. Neilson before, almost like a boy just rejected by his crush. Her gaze drops to the floor and she takes a deep breath, collecting herself, before meeting my eyes again with calmer remorse. Then as if she’s ever cared about my opinion before, she says, “You’re right. Sorry, Sirena, I was unnecessarily harsh. I believe detention for you and a zero on Mr. Delvaux’s next test will be sufficient punishment. Does that satisfy you, Mei?”

My jaw drops. I can’t help it. She not only calmed down so rapidly I’d think she could win an Oscar, but she also picked an appropriately severe punishment for the students. I quickly clap my mouth shut and nod.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I really would like a private word with Sirena. Don’t worry, I only wish to discuss with her concerning my student’s home life.”

“How very convenient. I also have several questions regarding Mr. Delvaux.” I haven’t gotten the whole story yet. Based on Miss Lynx's text, somehow this incident is linked with Mr. Rivera and those bullies. I’m not being nosey. Well I’m not only being nosey. I need to convince Miss Lynx to stop trying to handle the problem by herself and bribing Mr. Delvaux into doing God only knows what. I wish she’d rely on us teachers more. She trusts me. I’m sure with just a bit more encouragement she’ll open up completely.

“Actually, Ms. H,” Miss Lynx fidgets with her nails, her eyes glued on the cracking polish as she speaks. “I think, um, I should talk to, uh, Mrs. Neilson about Barrett.”

“Oh.” Did I just get rejected? “Sure.” I swallow thickly. She doesn’t want to tell me; that’s fine. She’s protecting Barrett’s privacy; that must be it. I should back off. I’ve clearly been pushing her too much lately, getting too invested in her friendships and life. “I’ll just leave.” But… 

What harm could it do if I continue investigating without her knowledge? After giving them the room, I walk far enough down the hall for them to believe I’m gone, before tiptoeing back to listen at the door. It’s cracked slightly, their soft voices drifting out in bits. “She’s got you so whipped,” Miss Lynx snickers.

Mrs. Neilson grumbles something unintelligible and then, “Just stop causing problems. I hate…” Her voice drops too low to hear. “...for you kids.”

“Don’t worry about us. We were doing just fine before you came.”

“I’m sure, but that was also before…”

“Fine, yeah, ok, I get it,” Miss Lynx groans. Her mumbling could be a half-hearted promise to stay out of trouble or possibly another justification for why she’s been causing said trouble. I can’t quite hear. Mrs. Neilson’s response is equally hushed and that might be the end of the conversation. Her heels click against the linoleum floor—my cue to get lost—except I’m intrigued when Miss Lynx says a bit louder, “You should just tell her the truth. I’m sure your family knows and it’s not like we keep all our partners in the dark, so I really don’t get what the big deal is.”

Mrs. Neilson’s response is slow and pained. “I’m sure you mean well, but please mind your own business and I’ll mind mine, witch.”