"So basically," Renzo began, pointing at the blackboard with the words Chaos Cleaners Club scribbled on it. "This club is one of the most important organizations in this school. Whenever someone needs help—something breaks, a file needs to be delivered, a desk needs moving—we’re the people to call."

"We’re basically glorified janitors," Milo blurted, slouched on a chair with his feet propped up on a stack of boxes.

Renzo shot him a glare but didn’t deny it. "Janitors do noble work, and to be compared to them should be an honor. There’s nothing to be ashamed of," he said, puffing his chest like he was Che Guevara giving a speech. Wendy clapped like she was his number-one revolutionary fan.

"Why does this club even exist?" I asked, expecting Renzo to go into storyteller mode. Instead, the smile slid off his face.

"You know what? I’ve never actually thought about that. Weird."

"Weird? Are you for real?" I crossed my arms, leaning against a cabinet that looked older than the school itself. Which was saying something, because Ashthorne High has been around for over a century. "You’re the president. Shouldn’t you at least know? Am I missing something here?" I looked to Wendy for backup, but she just shrugged.

Renzo laughed, like he’d forgotten the question existed. His aloofness almost made me question my life choices. But then I glanced at Samuel, and suddenly the club’s purpose didn’t really matter anymore. As long as I could be near him, I’d deal with this nonsense.

"Sometimes there doesn’t have to be a reason," Renzo said. "Like, why do we have three school bands? It’s not necessary, but—"

"There are three bands because demand is high," Samuel interrupted, startling all of us because we thought he wasn't listening. "One band can’t cover all the school and outside events."

Renzo blinked, floored that his rhetorical question got an actual answer. "Okay, maybe that was a terrible comparison," he admitted with a laugh. Milo looked like he was two seconds from throwing a shoe at him.

Here’s what I’d pieced together so far: Renzo and Samuel are seniors, Milo’s a junior who got banished from the Sports Club for who knows what reason, and Wendy and I are freshmen. No sophomores in sight. The whole group felt…fractured, like no one was really close. Even Milo, who seemed to know Renzo best, treated him like an annoying cousin you only tolerate at family reunions.

"Any more questions?" Renzo asked.

"Do we only meet during club days?" Wendy raised her hand like we were in class.

"Yes. But the room’s open after school or during breaks, so members can hang out here too," Renzo said. We all glanced around the dusty storage closet he dared to call a clubroom. Even Samuel had that look—please bury me alive so I don’t have to come back here.

"This is literally a storage room," I pointed out.

Renzo turned, like he was only noticing it for the first time. "Well, when the others graduated, we got transferred here. Nonetheless, we can work on it." His grin shifted into something menacing. "I have an idea."

"Of course you do," Milo and I groaned in unison. Great. We were syncing.

"Everyone else is busy with auditions, but since we don’t need those, let’s put our skills to the test." Renzo raided a cabinet, tossing tools at us like some unhinged game show host. Wendy got a rag and a bottle of chlorine, Milo got a broom, I got stuck with window cleaner, and Samuel—lucky him—ended up with a duster. Naturally, Renzo kept the mop.

He raised it high like Excalibur, and somehow, without a single protest, we got to work. Maybe we were too stunned to resist. Maybe Wendy’s excitement was contagious. Either way, we cleaned.

This was the group's first club activity. And I have a wild guess that this wasn't going to be the last.

The guys hauled boxes, Wendy scrubbed the tables, and I did my best with the windows. The whole thing felt less like a club activity and more like community service. Honestly, I half-suspected this was a scam. Maybe Renzo only asked me here to rope me in. Maybe Wendy was in on it. Maybe this whole club was just an elaborate plan to trick freshmen into free labor.

Okay, maybe I’m the crazy one.

"Elijah, can you take the trash out? The bins are by the gym," Renzo asked, now sporting an apron like a discount housewife. Wendy had one too.

"It’s Eli. And no, I’d rather not—"

"Sam, help him," Renzo interrupted.

"Oh. Perfect. Yes. That’s fine," I blurted, glancing at Samuel—Sam—who looked like boredom personified. He didn’t complain, just grabbed two heavy trash bags and waited. Took me a beat to realize he was waiting for me, so I scrambled to grab the rest.

We walked in silence. I couldn’t tell if the awkwardness was because we’d just met, or because I knew he used to be in the band I’d dreamed of joining. Maybe I should break the ice?

"So…why’d the band kick you out?" I asked. Out loud. Like an idiot.

Yeah. Fantastic icebreaker, Eli.

Predictably, Sam ignored me.

"Wouldn’t it have been better to join a different club?" I tried again. He glanced at me once before looking away.

"It doesn’t really matter."

That was it. No explanation, no follow-up. Just…Sam. I gave up, trailing behind him like a sad, lost puppy.

When we reached the bins, the sounds of cheering echoed from the gym. Sam dumped his bags first, and I thought he’d just head back in silence and leave me, but then a group of girls swooped in, all beaming at Samuel like he was a pop star.

"Hi Sam! We’re so happy to see you again this year!" one gushed.

Sam didn’t react.

"The bands are performing tomorrow at assembly. What songs are you doing?" another asked.

Sam sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "They kicked me out," he muttered, then shoved past them, leaving the words hanging like smoke.

The girls froze, processing. Then their attention turned on me.

"Wait…who’s this?" one asked, eyes narrowing.

"A freshman," another answered after eyeing my necktie.

"Why was he with Sam?"

Then they spotted the trash bags I was holding. Their faces lit up with cruel recognition.

"No way," one laughed. "Don’t tell me you actually joined that club."

I blinked. "What club?"

"The Chaos Cleaners," she said, half a giggle, half a sneer. "The joke club. The one that just…cleans? People bet on how long before it gets shut down. I also heard Renzo's the new president. It fits him. He's such a weirdo."

That sounded personal. And I wasn’t even Renzo.

"So why was Sam with you?" another demanded. "Was he helping? Maybe he lied about being kicked out. He does that, you know. He acts cold, but that's why we love him." Her eyes locked onto me like she was trying to pry the truth from my skull.

My brain chose violence against me. Instead of saying something cool or clever, my body betrayed me with a loud, squeaky hiccup.

The girls burst into giggles. Perfect. Exactly what I needed.

So yeah. Day one as a Chaos Cleaner?

Ten out of ten. Highly recommend.

And that damn drummer...he literally just left me, didn't he?

Fantastic.