WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF NO ONE IS WATCHING?

The question glared at me from the whiteboard like it was personally offended by my existence.

Miss Clara had written it in those sharp, aggressive letters that looked like they'd been carved by someone with serious anger management issues. Honestly, the woman probably practices her penmanship by stabbing paper with her pen. Very therapeutic, I'm sure.

The classroom had gone dead silent, which was suspicious because usually Penn was making some sarcastic comment about literally everything, and Jax was tapping out drum solos on his desk like he was auditioning for a boy band. But now? Cricket city.

"What the hell is this supposed to be?" Penn finally broke the silence, squinting at the board like it had personally insulted her entire bloodline. "A therapy session? Because I didn't sign up for feelings, lady."

Archer made this soft scoffing sound beside me, the kind that said he was too cool to actually have an opinion but definitely had one anyway. "I mean, it's not exactly subtle."

I shifted in my seat, suddenly hyperaware of how my thighs were sticking to the plastic chair. October heat in this place was like being slowly roasted alive, and the broken air conditioning wasn't helping anyone's mood. My fingers curled under the desk edge, and that's when I spotted them lurking in the back corner like a couple of beautiful vultures.

Spencer and Lea. Of course.

Spencer was already hunched over his paper, scribbling away like his life depended on it. Probably writing some deep, tortured poetry about his daddy issues or whatever rich boys cry about. But Lea? She was watching me with this little smirk that made my skin crawl in the most annoying way possible.

That same look she'd been giving me since the party. Like she knew something I didn't and was just dying to rub it in my face.

I hadn't talked to her since that night, but apparently she'd been keeping tabs on me. How flattering.

Miss Clara tossed the marker onto her desk with enough force to make everyone jump. The woman had serious dramatic flair, I'd give her that. She turned to face us, arms crossed over her beige cardigan like she was preparing for battle.

"Ten minutes," she announced, her voice flat as roadkill. "Three lines. That's it. I'm not asking for Shakespeare here, people. Just honesty. And if you don't have the balls to answer truthfully, leave the page blank. But don't waste my time with bullshit."

She started handing out sheets of paper, moving through the room like some kind of educational grim reaper. Her heels clicked softly against the linoleum, and I swear she was studying each of us like she could already read our deepest, darkest secrets.

When she reached my desk, she paused. Her eyes landed on my face, then dropped to the chain around my neck. Number 6, glinting in the fluorescent light like a tiny prison badge.

She blinked once, slow and deliberate, then placed the paper in front of me with surprising gentleness. Like I might break if she wasn't careful.

Yeah, right. I was tougher than I looked.

The room filled with the sound of pens scratching against paper, mixed with dramatic sighs and the occasional frustrated groan. Some kids were staring at the ceiling like divine inspiration might strike if they looked pathetic enough. Others were just doodling little flowers or obscene drawings in the margins.

I stared at my blank page.

What would you do if no one is watching?

Oh, where do I even start?

I'd scream until my throat was raw. I'd break into every locked room in this sketchy school and find out what they're really hiding. I'd corner Chase and make him tell me what the hell he meant about Cirrius. I'd cry for real instead of just pretending I was fine all the time. I'd probably eat an entire pizza by myself while wearing nothing but underwear and my favorite oversized shirt.

But I didn't write any of that. Instead, I just sat there holding my pen like it weighed fifty pounds, staring at the paper like it might spontaneously combust.

Beside me, Archer was already writing, his pen moving in these neat, controlled strokes. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, and there was something almost vulnerable about watching him work. Like seeing someone naked, but with feelings instead of skin.

Penn, on the other hand, was drawing tiny daggers in the corner of her paper and had written "HANDSOME GUYS ARE DANGEROUS" in big, bubbly letters with a skull and crossbones for emphasis. Classic Penn. Turn everything into a joke before it could hurt you.

I almost smiled. Almost.

Behind us, Chase wasn't even pretending to participate. His pen sat between his fingers like a cigarette he'd forgotten to light, and he was leaning back in his chair with that distant look that made him seem like he was seeing ghosts. Maybe he was. Maybe we all were in this place.

Jax was tapping his pen against his desk in some complicated rhythm, grinning to himself like he'd just figured out the meaning of life. Then he scribbled something down, flipped his paper upside down, and started chuckling like he'd just invented comedy.

And Levi...

I couldn't help but glance back at him. He was writing slowly, deliberately, his shoulders tense like he was lifting weights instead of forming sentences. His jaw was clenched tight enough to crack teeth. Then suddenly he stopped, pen hovering just above the paper, and his hand started shaking.

He didn't finish whatever he'd been writing.

Miss Clara drifted through the room like a well-dressed ghost, peering over shoulders without actually reading anything. When she stopped beside my desk, I felt her presence like a shadow.

"No words?" she asked quietly, and there was something almost gentle in her voice. Not judgment, just curiosity.

I looked up at her, taking in her tired eyes and the way her lipstick had faded throughout the day. "Not yet."

She nodded slowly, like that was a perfectly acceptable answer, and moved on.

Ten minutes crawled by like they were swimming through honey. When Miss Clara finally snapped her fingers, the sound cracked through the air like a whip.

"Time's up. Done or not, hand them in."

The collective sigh that went through the room sounded like air being let out of a balloon. We dragged ourselves out of our seats with the enthusiasm of people heading to their own execution.

One by one, we dropped our papers into the battered cardboard box on her desk. I caught a glimpse of Jax's as he folded it in half, something about "robbing vending machines" and "sleeping for three days straight."

"That was unnecessarily dark," Penn announced, flopping her arms dramatically. "Can't we just read Shakespeare like normal, emotionally repressed teenagers?"

Jax stretched his arms over his head, showing off a strip of tanned stomach that made more than one girl in the room suddenly very interested in her shoelaces. "If no one was watching, I'd sleep for twenty hours and eat nothing but candy until I went into a diabetic coma."

"That's literally what you do when people ARE watching," Penn shot back without missing a beat.

Jax grinned and poked Levi in the shoulder. "What about you, Mr. Dark and Mysterious? Did you write another poem about murdering me in my sleep?"

Levi didn't even look up from packing his bag. "Keep talking and I'll murder you while you're awake."

"Ooh, kinky," Jax cackled. "But seriously, why me? Chase is way more dangerous looking. I'm just emotionally unstable."

"You talk more," Levi replied flatly, which made Penn snort with laughter.

I glanced toward Chase, who was still sitting in that same position, staring at nothing. When our eyes met for a split second, something flickered across his face, but then he looked away just as quickly.

I needed answers. And I needed them tonight.

Miss Clara clapped her hands together sharply. "Alright, oversharing time is over. Back to actual literature before someone decides to write their memoir on my classroom floor."

We shuffled back to our seats, but that question was still hanging in the air like smoke. It had gotten under everyone's skin, crawled into the spaces between what we showed the world and who we really were.

When the bell finally rang, it didn't feel like freedom. It felt like coming up for air after being held underwater.

I stood up too fast and my knees decided to go on strike for half a second. Before I could embarrass myself by face-planting into my desk, Archer's hand shot out to steady my elbow.

"Don't let Chase mess with your head," he murmured as we gathered our books, his voice low enough that only I could hear.

I blinked at him, caught off guard. "What do you mean?"

He just looked at me with those serious brown eyes and didn't answer. Typical mysterious boy behavior.

Behind us, Jax was still running his mouth. "We should totally have a chain-burning ceremony. Throw our numbers into a big fire, chant some witchy stuff, let the ghosts of Avard High feast on our teenage angst."

"Shut up, Jax," Penn groaned, but she was smiling despite herself.

Levi had already disappeared like smoke, probably off to brood in some dark corner where normal people feared to tread.

I grabbed my bag and started backing toward the door. "I'll catch up with you guys at lunch."

Archer frowned. "Where are you going?"

"Bathroom," I lied smoothly. "All that deep emotional probing made me need to pee."

He didn't believe me for a second, but he nodded anyway and turned to help Penn wrestle her overstuffed backpack off the floor.

As soon as they were distracted, I slipped out the door and headed in the opposite direction.

I didn't even consciously decide where I was going. My feet just started moving like they had their own agenda. Chase hadn't gone toward the cafeteria with everyone else. His car was still in the parking lot, which meant he was somewhere on campus. And if I knew anything about mysterious, brooding guys with emotional baggage, it was that they loved hiding in quiet, forgotten places.

The library was perfect. Nobody went to the library unless they were forced to by a teacher or desperately trying to avoid human contact.

I made my way across campus, taking the back route past the science building and the broken vending machine that had been "temporarily out of order" since the Clinton administration. The library was tucked away in the oldest part of the school, where the hallways smelled like dust and broken dreams.

I climbed the stairs carefully, skipping the third step that creaked like a dying cat. The second floor was always colder than the rest of the building, like all the heat just gave up and went home.

The library door was cracked open just enough to let a thin slice of light escape into the hallway. I pushed it gently, and the hinges gave their usual dramatic groan of protest.

Inside, golden dust particles danced in the afternoon sunlight streaming through dirty windows. Wooden shelves lined the walls, packed with books that probably hadn't been touched since the Bush administration. The first Bush administration.

At first, the place seemed empty. But there was something in the air, a tension that made the hair on my arms stand up.

Then I saw them.

In the back corner, where the sunlight painted everything in shades of honey and amber, Chase and Lea were wrapped around each other like they were trying to become one person.

Her fingers were tangled in his dark hair, her other hand gripping the collar of his hoodie like she was afraid he might disappear. His hand was resting on her waist, fingers flexing against the fabric of her shirt. And they were kissing like the world was ending and this was their last chance to feel something real.

Something sharp and cold twisted in my chest, not quite jealousy but close enough to hurt. It wasn't that I had any claim on Chase, because I barely knew him. But twenty minutes ago he'd been looking at me like he could see straight through to my soul, like he knew things about Cirrius that he wasn't telling me.

And now he was here, kissing her like I didn't exist.

Like none of it mattered.

I stepped backward without thinking, and my shoulder collided with a bookshelf hard enough to send an old copy of "Pride and Prejudice" tumbling to the floor with a thud that echoed through the silence like a gunshot.

They froze.

Lea turned first, and when she saw me standing there like an idiot, she smiled. That same smug, satisfied smile she'd been giving me all week.

Like she'd been expecting this.

Like she'd won some game I didn't even know we were playing.

She leaned in close to Chase's ear and whispered something that made his jaw tighten. Then he turned to look at me, and there was no surprise in his eyes. No guilt. No regret.

Just that same quiet, unreadable expression that made me want to shake him until he started making sense.

That look hurt more than catching them kissing.

I turned and walked out without saying a word, my legs shaky and my throat burning with words I couldn't say. Down the stairs, past the lockers covered in peeling paint, across the quad to the far side of campus where the grass was dead and the fence was topped with rusty barbed wire.

I stopped when I couldn't walk anymore, pressing my back against the chain-link fence and forcing myself to breathe.

Why did it hurt? Why did he get to matter when I barely knew him? When I was here for Cirrius, not for some emotionally unavailable boy with pretty eyes and secrets?

I straightened up, jaw clenched tight enough to crack.

Focus, Camille.

This wasn't about feelings or hurt pride or whatever soap opera drama was happening in my chest. This was about my brother. This was about finding out what really happened at Avard High and why Cirrius died.

Tonight, I decided, I was going to find out what Chase had written on that paper. What all of them had written. Because that question, the one that had made everyone so uncomfortable, had to mean something.

What would you do if no one is watching?

Maybe the answer was the key to everything.

And if I had to break into Miss Clara's classroom and steal that box of papers to find out, then that's exactly what I was going to do.

Even if it killed me.

Especially if it killed me.

Because at this point, what did I have left to lose?