Chapter 2: Media Frenzy and the Desk’s Secret

When the bell rang and the loudspeaker announced the end of the test, no more answer sheets appeared in my desk. The familiar blare of the intercom snapped everyone out of their haze. The spell, whatever it was, broke as the last echo faded. I slumped in my seat, exhausted and bewildered.

By then, the proctor and I had already pulled more than twenty answer sheets from my desk. The pile of papers beside us looked like a mountain. I exchanged a glance with the proctor—his expression was part horror, part resignation, like a man who’d lost a bet with the universe.

The proctor quickly organized the other students to leave, leaving only me behind. He called out names, herding students toward the door like a flock of dazed sheep. Their eyes lingered on the stacks of answer sheets, and a few lingered at the threshold, curiosity barely contained.

After a while, Mr. Reynolds arrived. His shoes thudded against the linoleum, every step making my stomach sink a little lower. Seeing the floor covered with papers, he immediately understood what had happened, even without us explaining. He stopped cold, mouth agape, surveying the carnage of answer sheets as if he’d walked in on a crime scene. For a second, I thought he might actually laugh—then his face hardened, all business.

There was nothing else to be done; with a situation like this, he could only report to the school board. He muttered something under his breath about district policies and job security, then stalked off, cell phone already pressed to his ear. The stress lines on his face had deepened since this morning.

After Mr. Reynolds repeatedly explained and swore he wasn’t crazy, the administration finally agreed to send a team to the testing room. I could almost hear the disbelief through the walls as the administration debated, voices muffled and incredulous. Eventually, a cluster of adults in suits and sensible shoes made their way down the hall, looking equal parts skeptical and annoyed.

Later, the proctor and I patiently explained the situation to the group. I repeated my story for the umpteenth time, each retelling feeling more unreal. The administrators scribbled notes on legal pads, side-eyeing the piles of answer sheets as if they might explode.

They remained skeptical. Even when they saw the correct answers on the papers, they still suspected a leak of the test questions. One woman in a navy pantsuit started grilling me, her voice sharp and clinical. They compared answer keys and muttered in tense clusters, suspicion thick in the air.

But as for our claim that the answer sheets appeared out of nowhere, they simply thought we were nuts. I heard someone whisper, "Maybe he’s got a printer hidden in there," and another scoff, "I bet it’s some elaborate prank." I almost laughed—if only it were that simple.

"Check the cameras!" Mr. Reynolds roared again, using his hysteria to intimidate the group. His voice boomed, commanding instant attention. The administrators exchanged nervous glances before following him to the security office, their skepticism dissolving with every step.

Sure enough, after watching the security footage, their frowns grew deeper and deeper. I watched as their faces shifted from doubt to disbelief. A couple of them started pacing, muttering to themselves. The footage was undeniable: the answer sheets simply appeared, as if conjured from thin air.

Outside, local news vans idled at the curb, reporters craning for a shot of the mystery desk. "Is this… a supernatural phenomenon?" An older, more authoritative professor among them said, "I’ve lived a long life, but this is the first time I’ve seen something like this with my own eyes." He sounded half-wonderstruck, half-terrified. His hair was white, his suit rumpled from years in academia, and I got the sense that he secretly relished the chaos.

"Should we try it? See if the desk will produce another answer sheet?" Someone suggested the idea, their tone both playful and dead serious. The room buzzed with a weird kind of excitement, as if we were about to unmask a magician’s trick.

"Let’s try." The decision was made in a chorus of nods. A small parade of teachers and administrators filed back down the hall, some clutching notebooks, others just wide-eyed.

So the group followed the old professor back to the testing room. Under everyone’s gaze, the professor sat in my test seat. He cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses, and lowered himself into the chair with the solemnity of a man preparing for liftoff. The group clustered around him, murmuring like a crowd at a magic show.

But after waiting more than ten minutes, the desk stayed empty. Time stretched. Someone coughed. Another teacher tapped their foot. But the desk, for all its earlier drama, was just a regular piece of school furniture again.

"How about I try?" I suggested weakly from the crowd. My voice cracked a little, but everyone turned to me with a kind of reluctant hope. For a second, I felt like the world’s least-wanted superhero—my only power was sitting at a weird desk during a test.

The old professor nodded and gave me the seat. He slid out, gesturing for me to take over. I shuffled back to my desk, nerves prickling. The air felt heavy with anticipation.

Still, the desk was empty. I lifted the top, checked inside and around, but nothing—not even a scrap of paper. I exhaled slowly, disappointment and relief mixing together.

"Maybe it only works during the test," I guessed. "Mr. Carter, can you give me a test? A practice exam will do." I said it loud enough for everyone to hear, feeling a little foolish but also a bit excited to play along with the mystery. Mr. Carter nodded, lips pressed into a thin line.

The proctor quickly ran to the office, grabbed a practice test at random, and placed it on my desk. He was back in a flash, out of breath, clutching a stapled packet like it was a golden ticket. The crowd pressed in, forming a semicircle at the door.

"Let’s do it by the book, just like a real test. Everyone else, go to the security office and watch," the professor instructed, having everyone except the proctor leave the testing room. There was a flurry of movement as the rest filed out, some grumbling about wanting to stay. The door swung shut, leaving me and Mr. Carter alone, the room suddenly twice as quiet as before.

Now, only the proctor and I remained in the room. I could hear my own breathing, slow and shaky, as Mr. Carter straightened his tie and cleared his throat, trying to regain a sense of order.

"Ahem… Now announcing the test rules…" The proctor formally declared the start of the test, just like in the real thing. He recited the instructions from memory, his voice steadying with routine. I nodded along, feeling the old nerves return, but now laced with curiosity instead of dread.

I settled in, carefully reading the questions, trying not to pay attention to whether there were answers in the desk. I focused on the paper in front of me, blocking out the weirdness. The questions were basic, the kind of stuff I could answer in my sleep. Still, I resisted the urge to peek inside the desk.

I had just finished the first question when the testing room door swung open. The professor hurried in, breathless, eyes alight with anticipation. Everyone in the security office must have been watching me, waiting for a sign. The energy in the room shifted, the tension wound tight again.

Seeing his anxious expression, I quickly looked into the desk. My heart hammered as I lifted the lid. This time, the anticipation felt electric, like the moments before a thunderstorm.

Sure enough, a sheet filled with answers had appeared in my desk. I stared at it, half-expecting it to vanish if I blinked. My hands trembled as I picked it up and waved it in the air, triumphant and terrified all at once.

The professor held the sheet like a treasure, then took my test to check the answers. His hands shook as he compared the sheets, eyes darting back and forth. I caught a flash of a smile—a look of wonderment, like a kid seeing fireworks for the first time.

"Every answer is correct," the professor said, his voice trembling. For a moment, I worried he might faint from excitement. He ran a hand through his hair, eyes darting to the door like he was ready to bolt. The proctor and I exchanged a glance—half pride, half fear. The room felt small, stuffed full of secrets.