Chapter 1: The Midnight Ping

At two in the morning, the class president pinged me in the group chat to notify me about the 800-meter physical fitness test. My phone buzzed so loud it made my heart jump and my roommate mumble in her sleep. The sharp vibration of my phone cut through the silence of my darkened dorm room, making my heart lurch. The group chat icon glowed, harsh against the black, and I squinted at the message from Derek Sanders, our class president. Even half-asleep, I could tell he wasn't just tagging everyone for fun—he was singling me out.

"The student whose ID ends in 0089 must show up for the fitness test on time. Miss it, and you’re officially skipping—no excuses."

I was instantly wide awake. My stomach dropped. I could already hear my mom’s voice—"Why is it always you?" Just yesterday, it was definitely my roommate on the student council who got picked.

Now my pulse kicked up as adrenaline replaced sleepiness. I fumbled for my glasses on the nightstand and reread the message just to be sure I hadn't imagined it. Natalie, my roommate—she'd been the unlucky one yesterday, right?

How did it become my student number today?

I messaged Derek that I’d just been discharged from the hospital and couldn’t possibly run 800 meters.

Still, I tried to keep things polite, typing out, "Hey Derek, is there any way you can swap me out? Seriously, I’m still stitched up." I could practically hear the hum of campus radiators and the distant rumble of a late-night freight train as I waited for his reply.

But Derek thought I was just trying to get out of it:

"Well, you’re the one who got selected. If you don’t show up, be prepared to be marked absent and face disciplinary action."

I groaned and let my phone fall onto the comforter. My side throbbed, and I pressed a palm over my incision, half-wishing I could just disappear. That was so classic Derek—never mind common sense or empathy. He was probably sitting in his off-campus apartment, relishing the power trip. I could already picture his smug little avatar glaring at me from the chat.

So, on the day of the physical test, I collapsed, foaming at the mouth.

Right in front of the district administrators—with a dramatic thud.

I’d never planned on making a scene, but honestly, what choice did I have? My sneakers squeaked on the gym floor. Every breath felt like it tugged at my stitches, and the mix of sweat and bleach made my head spin. The gym reeked of old sweat and cleaning chemicals, and my stitches still pulled with every step. I went down hard, the whole world tilting. The last thing I heard was someone dropping their clipboard and yelling for the school nurse.

The next day, the class president, the principal, and even the school board director were all running around in a panic.

My phone buzzed nonstop. My notifications stacked up—Derek, the dean, even classmates I barely knew. The group chat was a wildfire of panic emojis and all-caps messages. Even the usually untouchable folks on the school board were in a full-blown tailspin. If there was an award for causing the most chaos with one collapse, I’d have earned it, hands-down.