Pray the Reader pause a spell to simmer on my story, which I’m sure is stretching the deferral of your doubt. I felt no less troubled as I headed home that night. I would spend the weekend worrying about the Bord.

I worried that OhmN would show beneath my bed. I worried that Salvador might suffer it instead. I worried that I’d done wrong in getting in its way. And I worried doubly since I felt afraid to pray.

Memories of OhmN haunted me through day and night. I fear I lacked the wit to unwrap its warning then. But I did have grit enough to hatch a sinful scheme conceived in my knowledge of the doctrine we were taught.

Understand that I felt a desperate need for answers and that I was done with doubting while my deadline loomed. There were only four days until Field Day’s graded gauntlet. No disturbance I’d endured had dimmed my desire.

So, I snatched an idol from the doorway of my kindred and bore it in my bookbag upon the start of school. I awaited recess for a chance at secrecy, speeding to St. Circe’s bleakest bathroom sneakily.

Having seen him earlier during a stressful speech, I compelled my friend to reappear to me with ease. He scrunched his refreshed face at the space’s stink. “Here again?” he complained.

“What do you expect?” With a sigh, I produced a starfix from my bag. I will spare the Reader a full reckon of its form. Know that it depicts a person splayed upon a star. These were symbols of a story sacred to the Bord.

Salvador recoiled from it. “Why bring that in here?”

“We’re calling a dimble,” I softly explained.

He tilted his head. “So that’s one idea.”

“Got a better one?” I inquired.

Salvador struggled after any other course, puffing his delicate features as he sought answers. None appeared to come to him. He pouted at me. “How do you know this’ll work?” he asked.

“I don’t,” I admitted, “but we’d better try. OhmN could show anytime. What else can we do?”

“You’d risk Halla for me?” my companion probed.

“I can get forgiven if this doesn’t work,” I quipped.

Salvador chortled. “Fair enough. What’s the plan?”

I wrinkled my brow. “Spit on it, I guess?” Doctrine dictated that dimbles answered sacrilege. Spitting seemed crude enough. I puckered my lips.

Something slamming startled me before I shot my spit.

I yelped uncontrollably, losing out on stealth, and in scaring snapped the stolen starfix in my grip. I gritted my teeth as I eyed the broken idol. “Oof,” Salvador sighed in sympathy.

Ears perked, I then heard the bathroom door swing shut, and I realized that the slam was someone barging in. Steady footsteps brought that someone swiftly to my stall. My heart hammered as I pondered how to hide my sin.

Thinking better than to bear the proof in my bookbag, I consigned myself to sin again for secrecy. I lifted the toilet lid and dropped the starfix in. Notes of rancid wastewater punished my offense.

“What do you think you’re doing?” came the voice of Rachel, cutting right away into my strength in solitude. Salvador frowned as I quivered at her call. I gestured for quiet and performed a phlegmy cough.

“What’s it look like?” I deferred.

Rachel tapped her toes. “That toilet doesn’t flush.” She pointed out.

I breathed deeply through my mouth and unlocked the stall. I met Rachel with a smile. “Oops.” I mewled.

Rachel harshly sucked her teeth. “Why are you so gross?!”

I slinked over to the sink. “Why’d you follow me?”

Rachel gave an answer that I fear I don’t recall; I endured a wet cacophony she couldn’t hear.

From the toilet where I’d dropped the starfix I’d destroyed, there emerged a mass of meat amid a spoiled spring. Salvador darted to a spot outside the stall. Rachel stared expectantly, sensing nothing strange.

“Well?” she demanded on a point I’d missed.

“What?” I squeaked, spinning from the sink. I pretended not to see a specter in a star, preening on a musty seat and snickering at me.