Renzo was laughing his socks off when I saw him still waiting for me outside my house. “You really thought I moved here!” he howled, clutching his stomach like he’d just invented comedy itself. “I got you real good!”

“Please shut up before my sister sees you,” I practically begged. Renzo finally wiped the tears from his eyes and straightened up, still grinning like a maniac.

“What the hell are you even doing here? And how did you know where I live?”

Renzo pulled out an envelope and handed it to me like he was delivering a wedding invitation. I tore it open, only to find an acceptance letter claiming that I was now officially registered as a member of the Chaos Cleaners Club.

Did he seriously come all the way to my house just to give me this?

“You’re officially one of us,” Renzo said, beaming. “Okay, yeah, I admit, dropping by here at this hour is a little weird. But when I was registering you earlier, I caught a glimpse of your student profile and saw you lived nearby. So I figured—why wait? I’ll deliver it personally.”

“You could’ve just given this to me tomorrow.”

Renzo shrugged. “Where’s the fun in that?”

He popped another handful of chips into his mouth. “Anyway, we have an assembly tomorrow. All the clubs will be showcasing themselves in the afternoon. Bring an apron, gloves, and some cleaning tools. Booth 23. Don’t forget.”

“…You’re serious?”

He was.

The courtyard was buzzing with booths from every club imaginable. The Cooking Club bribed people with cookies. The Karate Club had kids breaking boards in half like action heroes. There was an Anime Club, an Animal Alliance Club, and even an Extreme Gardening Club. I didn't know what made it extreme, but one look at their mutant plants and I was halfway convinced they were breeding Pokémon.

And then there was us. Booth 23. Shoved into the far corner by the rusty water fountain that hacked and wheezed every few seconds like it was dying. A giant tree blocked most of the sunlight, so the booth looked more like a haunted yard sale than a club showcase.

Renzo and Wendy were already in full uniform—aprons, gloves, and grim determination—lining up mops and brooms on the table like prized antiques.

“Eli! You made it!” Renzo waved. “Please tell me you didn’t forget your apron.”

I wanted to say I did, just to cling onto what little dignity I had left, but Wendy texted me a reminder this morning. Still no clue how she got my number, but I'm betting Renzo had something to do with it.

“I have it,” I said flatly, dropping my bag on a chair. “I’ll wear it later.”

“Good. Now help me with those boxes. We’ve got leftover supplies from last year.”

I grabbed a cutter and opened the boxes. Sure enough: towels, sponges, and a half-empty bottle of detergent. Renzo was dead serious with this whole cleaning gimmick.

“Where are the others?” I asked.

As if summoned by dark magic, Milo appeared. I wasn't expecting anything from him. I even thought that he'd be moping and complaining because of how stupid our booth looked. But when I lifted my head to look at him, I was surprised to see him wearing a yellow apron. He even matched the color of his rubber gloves.

I can't believe he was this committed to the club as Renzo was. I guess I judged him too quickly.

“I brought the poster,” he said, unrolling a piece of cartolina. Scrawled across it in glitter was Chaos Cleaners Club, framed with hand-drawn brooms and mops.

All of us stared at it in silence, but Wendy eventually broke the awkward tension with a chuckle.

“…It looks cute,” Wendy said kindly.

Milo actually blushed. “Really? My sister helped.”

I squinted at the poster. “How old is she? Five?”

“She’s seven.”

I was going to die in this club.

“Okay, gang,” Renzo rallied us, “Let’s hang Milo’s poster and set up. Later this afternoon, the others are going to walk around and vote for their favorite booth. If we get first place, we'll have a bonus club budget. If we get that, we could go on field trips and things like that," Renzo explained, looking so excited it was breaking my heart. 

We weren't going to win that competition. I saw the other booths, and one of the clubs had an actual aquarium with real fish in them. The students wouldn't vote for us, but I'm a hundred percent sure they'd visit just to laugh at us. Those girls from yesterday were already laughing. And, as much as I don't want to admit it, I could tell that Renzo genuinely loves this club. I don't think I could stomach his reaction if people begin to flock to our booth for the wrong reasons.

"Okay, wait. I need to tell you guys something," I said, making Renzo, Milo, and Wendy stop whatever they were doing. 

I took a deep breath and looked at them seriously. "I don't want to do this, but I need to be honest. Our club looks bad. It's like a janitor's closet, and that's not a compliment. People are going to laugh at us. The students passing by are already laughing at us. We're not gonna win at this rate."

For a second, I thought Milo would roast me, and Renzo would brush it off. But instead, they all just…nodded.

“I knew it,” Renzo admitted, dropping his tape in defeat. “It was the same last year. People laughed then, too. But this time…” He ran a hand through his hair.

Okay, now I feel bad.

“Look, we still have six hours,” I said quickly. “We can turn this around. If we can’t out-decorate them, we can do something. Make people stop and notice us.”

“Like what?” Wendy asked.

“Yeah, none of us are creative,” Milo muttered.

I looked at the three of them and tried thinking of something. I might have joined this club for other reasons, but this is still the club I chose to be in. Like them, I need to put the same effort. So what can we do to make people want to vote for our booth? What could we put that would help us stand out from the rest?

I racked my brain. What could possibly make people look twice at this disaster of a booth?

And then it hit me.

“Sam!” I blurted.

“Sam?” Renzo frowned. “I haven’t even seen Sam today.”

“No, listen—we have Sam. He’s basically one of the most popular guys in school, right? If we put him front and center, people will come to us. We could stick a mop and an apron on him, and boom...we win votes.”

The others started to see my point…until their eyes all flicked past me at the same time.

I turned.

Sam stood right behind me.

“…What the hell did you just say?” he asked, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.

I laughed nervously and looked to the others for backup. No one spoke. Traitors.

“Okay, maybe that sounded bad,” I said quickly. “But all I meant was, you’re our biggest asset! In a totally respectful way.”

Sam’s glare darkened.

“W-wait! Before you kill me...new idea! Let’s, uh…perform something!”

"Perform?” Milo echoed.

“Yes! A show! We might not have flashy decorations, but we could put on something people can’t look away from. A performance!”

The others exchanged baffled looks. Sam was still glaring.

I swallowed. Hard.

“Trust me,” I said, forcing a smile I definitely didn’t feel. “This will work. I know it will.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the exact moment I dug my own grave.