The morning sunlight cut through the blinds in sharp lines, creeping across Ace's face until he couldn't ignore it anymore. He groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes, but it was too late—he was awake.

Ace Crow was eight years old, wild as a coyote and twice as loud. His pink hair stuck up in every direction, and when he finally cracked open his blue, summer-sky eyes, he stared at the ceiling for a solid ten seconds before his brain kicked into gear.

He yawned, covering his mouth out of habit—a habit his mom drilled into him—then rolled over to squint at the clock on his nightstand.

6:20 AM.

Monday.

His eyes went wide.

"Oh no. Oh no no no—" Ace shot upright, yanking at his hair with both hands. "I DIDN'T DO MY HOMEWORK!"

He launched himself out of bed in just his underwear, stumbling over a pile of action figures as he scrambled toward his closet. His brain was already spinning out—Mrs. Patterson's gonna kill me, she's gonna call Mom, I'm so dead, I'm SO dead—

He grabbed the first clothes he saw: red jacket, black sweatpants, white t-shirt. No time to care if they matched. He hopped on one foot trying to get his pants on, nearly face-planting into his dresser, then snatched his backpack off the floor.

Homework. Think. Did I even START it?

No. No, he definitely didn't.

"Okay okay okay, maybe I can do it on the bus, maybe Jojo will let me copy—no wait, Jojo always does it the night before like a nerd—"

He bolted out of his room and took the stairs two at a time. His backpack bounced wildly against his shoulders.

The second his foot hit the bottom step, a voice erupted from the kitchen like a thunderclap.

"ACE CROW!"

He froze mid-step, one hand on the banister, his whole body going stiff.

Oh man.

"Y-yeah?" he called back, trying to sound innocent. It didn’t work. It never worked.

Ace shuffled toward the kitchen like he was walking to his execution, each step slower than the last. When he finally reached the doorway, his mom was standing there, arms crossed, staring at him with those piercing blue eyes that could see straight through any lie he tried to tell.

Mace Crow didn’t need superpowers—she had The Mom Stare, and it was terrifying.

She had blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, pale skin like Ace’s, and right now her expression said she knew exactly what kind of chaos was brewing in her son’s brain.

"And where do you think you're going, Mr. Crow?" Her tone was sharp but measured, the kind that meant he was already on thin ice.

Ace gulped, trying to plaster on his most innocent smile. It probably looked more like a grimace. "U-uh... school, Mom?"

"Hmm." Her eyes narrowed. "Okay. Did you do your homework?"

His heart hammered in his chest. Lie. Just lie. She can't prove anything yet.

Ace nodded quickly—maybe too quickly. "Of course, Mother! I did my homework." He even tried sounding formal, like politeness would somehow make it believable. "Now may I please go to school? I'm almost late."

The silence that followed felt like it lasted a year.

Mace tilted her head slightly, studying him. One eyebrow arched upward.

"Really," she said flatly. "You did your homework."

"Yep!" Ace's voice cracked. "All of it. Super done. Very completed."

"Alright then." Mace uncrossed her arms, though her eyes stayed locked on him for a long, suspicious moment. "Get going before you actually are late."

Ace didn’t need to be told twice.

"Thanksloveyoubye!" The words tumbled out in one breath as he bolted for the front door, nearly tripping over his own feet.

He burst through the door into the cool morning air, letting it slam behind him—then winced. Too loud. She's definitely gonna yell about that later.

But that was Future Ace’s problem.

His skateboard leaned against the porch railing where he’d left it. He grabbed it, tossed it onto the sidewalk, and jumped on in one mostly smooth motion. He wobbled for a second before finding his balance, then kicked off hard.

The wheels rattled against the concrete as he picked up speed, his backpack bouncing behind him. Morning was quiet—some cars rolling past, a guy walking his dog, and a bird making that annoying early-morning chirping sound.

Ace pushed harder, weaving around a crack in the sidewalk. His mind raced. Jojo. Jojo’s smart. Jojo always does his homework. Maybe if I ask really nice—

He turned onto Maple Street. Three more blocks to Jojo’s house.

Please be ready. Please be ready. Please don’t make me wait—

After a few minutes of hard skating, Ace rolled up to Jojo's house, breathing hard and sweating despite the cool air.

Jojo was already on the porch like he’d been waiting there forever. He probably had.

Jojo was seven, a whole year younger but somehow acted like he was thirty. They’d been best friends since they were babies; Ace couldn’t even remember life without him.

The kid had a massive afro that covered his eyes completely. Ace had asked a million times how he could see through it. Jojo always just shrugged.

Today he wore a dark blue shirt and black sweatpants, sitting cross-legged with a notebook on his knee, chewing bubble gum slowly and methodically.

"YO, JOJO!" Ace shouted, skidding to a stop.

Jojo turned slightly. He blew a bubble, let it pop softly, and said, "Took you long enough, Ace."

"Dude, I'm like barely late—"

"Five minutes and twenty-three seconds late," Jojo corrected, standing and tucking his notebook under his arm. He hopped onto the back of Ace's board without hesitation. Ace adjusted his stance automatically.

As they rolled down the sidewalk, Jojo pulled his notebook back out and started writing again.

Ace frowned. "Dude, what are you even writing about?"

"You," Jojo said.

Ace’s eye twitched. "Why? What’d I do this time?"

"You were five minutes and twenty-three seconds late. Also, you're breathing heavier than usual. Probably ran out in a panic. Did you forget your homework again?"

"Aw, stop being dramatic!" Ace kicked harder. "I was barely late!"

"Ace," Jojo said flatly. "I never act dramatic. I record observable facts."

Ace groaned. "Dude, show some emotion sometime. How else do you expect to find true love?"

"My notebook is my true love."

"That's sad, man."

"It's efficient."

Ace sighed. The school was close now. His stomach twisted with dread.

"Okay... but did you at least do your homework?"

"Indeed." Jojo sounded offended that Ace even asked. "I always finish my assignments the night they're given."

"Yeah yeah, I know." Ace sped up. "But maybe I could use, uh... a little—"

"Help?" Jojo said. "No."

"What? Why not?"

"Because copying homework is academic dishonesty. Also, you ask me every Monday. The answer never changes."

"Because you’re my best friend!"

"I am your best friend. Which is why I'm not enabling your poor time-management skills."

Ace wanted to argue, but he couldn’t. Jojo was right. Annoying, but right.

They arrived at Sandbay Elementary—brown brick, foggy windows, and that weird school smell of cafeteria food and crushed dreams.

Inside was chaos. Kids everywhere. Homework panic everywhere.

"So," Jojo said, adjusting his straps with precision, "you have twelve minutes to finish your homework."

"Dude, come on. I’m too dumb to finish it."

Jojo turned to face him. "You are not dumb, Ace. Your cognitive abilities are normal. You simply won't apply yourself to uninteresting tasks."

"Exactly! It’s boring. Who cares about multiplying fractions?"

"Statistically—"

"Jojo. You're doing the robot teacher thing."

"I'm trying to help."

"I know." Ace scratched his neck. "I’ll figure it out."

"Will you?" Jojo asked.

"Probably not," Ace muttered. "Maybe I can skip class. Hide in the bathroom."

"Unwise. Mrs. Patterson takes attendance immediately. She’d call your mother."

Ace groaned loudly.

Jojo walked off toward the lockers. "I need my science textbook. See you in class."

And he was gone, swallowed by the crowd.

Ace stood alone, backpack hanging, skateboard poking out awkwardly. Kids rushed by. His brain spun.

Okay. Think. I’m cooked. Mega cooked. Mrs. Patterson’s gonna ask for the homework and I’m gonna have nothing and she’s gonna call Mom and then I’m dead.

"Yo, Ace!"

Ace turned. Some kid—Daniel? Derek? Something with a D—waved.

"You got the math homework? I forgot mine."

"Dude. Do I look like I have my life together?"

"...Fair point."

D-kid walked off.

Ace sighed, long and dramatic, and trudged toward his classroom.

I'm so dead. SO dead.

As Ace stood there in the middle of the hallway, drowning in his thoughts about impending doom, someone slammed into his shoulder hard enough to send him stumbling sideways.

"Whoa!" He windmilled his arms, barely catching his balance before smashing into a locker.

"HEY!" Ace spun around, his voice echoing. "WHAT THE HECK, DUDE!"

The person who hit him stopped and turned around slowly, like she had all the time in the world and didn’t care she’d almost knocked him out.

She was a girl—maybe his age, maybe a year older, it was hard to tell. Fair skin covered in freckles, like someone had flicked a paintbrush across her cheeks. Sharp red bob, perfectly straight, ending right at her shoulders. And her expression? Totally unimpressed.

She looked him up and down. "Oh. You're Jojo’s friend, huh?"

There was something weird in her tone. Almost… jealous? No, that didn’t make sense. Ace crossed his arms, trying to look taller. "Yeah, I’m his best friend. But that doesn't matter right now. What matters is you just bumped into me and tried to walk away without saying sorry!"

She stared at him, then rolled her eyes so aggressively Ace wondered if she could see her own brain. "Whatever."

She turned away and walked off, her bob swishing through the crowd.

Ace’s jaw dropped. "Whatever? Whatever?! That's not an apology!"

Heat rushed to his cheeks. His hands curled into fists. Who did she think she was? She didn’t get to just dismiss him like that.

"Hey! HEY! I'm not done talking to you!" He started after her when—

Thwap.

A piece of paper smacked him in the face.

"Gah!" Ace peeled it off. "What the—"

Standing in front of him was one of the anime-poster nerds. Skinny. Like really skinny. Elbows and knees everywhere. Bowl cut that definitely involved a real bowl. Glasses way too big for his head. His eyes were wide, twitchy, like he’d been chugging soda since sunrise.

He clutched a stack of papers like priceless treasure. "Excuse me, sir," he said, breathless. "Have you ever seen—" He glanced around dramatically, then leaned in. "Have you ever seen paper attack kids who don’t want to do their homework?"

Ace blinked. Once. Twice.

"...Huh?"

"The paper!" the kid hissed. "The homework papers! They’re alive! I’ve seen them! I have experience! The Paper Monsters. They’re evil. Very evil!"

Ace stared, mouth half open. His brain could not process any of this.

"Dude," he finally said, "what are you even talking about?"

The nerd looked heartbroken that Ace didn’t believe him. "You don’t understand! Nobody understands! I have notes! Evidence! They come when you least expect it, when you’re vulnerable, when you haven’t done your work and—"

He kept rambling, words pouring out like a broken faucet, but Ace had already stopped listening.

His eyes drifted past the kid, following the path Red Hair Girl had taken.

What was her deal?