Maya recovers fast—faster than I expected. She straightens in her chair, folding her hands neatly in her lap, and her smile creeps back into place like armor. She glances toward the adults rushing to the stage, holding up a hand to stop them.

"It’s unfortunate," she says finally, her voice perfectly calm again, "that such a reckless and baseless rumor has spread. And even more unfortunate that some people choose to repeat it."

She pauses, just for a moment, but it’s too long. The murmuring grows louder again, and the shadow of her hesitation lingers in the air.

"But let me be clear," she continues, her tone firmer now. "The Kingdom of Keys is a dangerous and ruthless organization. I understand the frustration and fear they inspire—believe me, I share it. That’s why legislation like the Superhuman Activity Regulation Act is so important. It’s about giving our law enforcement the tools they need to protect us. To protect you."

The murmuring dies down, and the students clap politely, but the energy in the room is different now. Less focused. Fractured.

Maya’s still talking, spinning her narrative with her usual precision, but I’m not listening anymore. I step back from the microphone, the adults ushering me firmly away, and return to my seat next to Jordan. Something about waiting for official news conversation. I don't care. I've thrown my punch.

They’re staring at me like I’ve just set the auditorium on fire. They reach a hand out for a below-the-belt high five, which I, of course, return.

"Where the fuck did that come from?" Jordan hisses.

"What, you didn't know about Duvall? It was all over the news, like, for two days after it happened. Don't you remember Mrs. Heartstopper or whatever?" I respond, just as quietly.

Jordan shakes their head, laughing under their breath. "He died of an embolism, dude. Not a heart attack or cardiac arrest. I was paying attention."

"Oh, was it an embolism? Oops," I reply, grinning.

----------------------------------------

The bell rings right after the assembly ends, and the auditorium erupts into chaos as students shuffle toward the exits. There’s an electric buzz in the air, like someone lit a fuse but everyone’s waiting to see how long it’ll take to explode. I catch snippets of whispers as I shoulder my way out into the hallway:

"Did she actually just say that?"

"Who the hell is Richard Duvall?"

"Wait, was that Sam Small?"

Phones are out everywhere, faces lit up by glowing screens. It doesn’t take a genius to guess what they’re searching. I can already picture it—"Richard Duvall + death + Kingdom of Keys." Half the student body probably just learned what an embolism is. The other half is probably trying to figure out who Maya Richardson even is.

Jordan keeps pace with me, their grin practically splitting their face. "You’re a menace, you know that, right?"

"I’ve been told," I say, deadpan. I can feel people staring as I walk past, but it’s not new. I’ve always been "that girl"—the one who judo-threw a security guard, the one who got her ass kicked by Patriot, the one who punches first and thinks later. But this? This is different. The stares feel sharper, like people are waiting to see if I’ll combust right in front of them.

We turn a corner toward our lockers, and Alex Garcia materializes out of nowhere, almost tripping over his own feet in his rush to catch up. His phone’s in his hand, an article already pulled up.

"Sam!" he half-shouts, his voice cracking just a little. "Did you know Duvall was, like, super corrupt? Like, he was in trouble for taking bribes and trying to rig zoning laws before he died. And you’re saying the Kingdom killed him?"

"That’s what I said, yeah," I reply, spinning the lock on my locker with one hand and yanking it open. My books spill out in a landslide, but I don’t even flinch.

"That’s insane," Alex says, his eyes wide. "I mean, it makes sense—like, why else would he just drop dead right after the election—but saying that out loud? In front of everyone? Dude, you’re crazy."

Jordan leans against the locker next to mine, still grinning. "She’s not crazy. She’s a hero. Somebody had to say it."

I roll my eyes, stuffing books into my bag. "Can you two stop gawking and let me get to class?"

Alex doesn’t budge, his thumbs flying across his phone screen. "You’re trending on NetSphere, by the way. Somebody filmed the whole thing, and now there’s a thread with, like, three hundred comments. People are arguing about whether you’re a conspiracy nut or a badass."

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"Let me guess," I say, slamming my locker shut. "You think I’m both?"

"Obviously," Alex says, grinning. "You’re, like, a real life Asu--."

"If you finish that sentence I'm punching you in the throat," Jordan interrupts him.

"Thanks," I chuckle, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "Love the vote of confidence."

----------------------------------------

The rest of the day is a slow-motion train wreck. Everywhere I go, people are whispering, their eyes darting to me like I’ve grown a second head. Teachers keep glancing at me, their expressions a mix of concern and that "please don’t start anything" wariness they’ve perfected over the years. Even Mr. Petrakis, who usually can’t be bothered to care about anything, gives me a raised eyebrow when I walk into Chemistry.

At lunch, Jordan and Alex sit with me at our usual table, but the vibe is different. People keep passing by, pretending not to look at me while obviously looking at me. One girl actually trips over her own feet trying to get a better angle for a sneaky photo.

"Do I have something on my face, or is this just my life now?" I ask, stabbing at my mashed potatoes with way more aggression than necessary.

"Definitely your life now," Jordan says, stealing a fry off my tray. "You’re the school’s number-one hot topic. Enjoy your fifteen minutes."

Alex shoves his phone in my face again. "Oh my God, look at this comment. ‘If that girl isn’t careful, she’s gonna end up like Duvall.’ Dude, they’re calling you out!"

I shove his phone away, not bothering to read it. "Let them. I don’t care."

Jordan gives me a sidelong look. "You care."

"Okay, maybe a little," I admit. "But I’m not backing down. If Maya can use me as her prop, I can throw it right back in her face."

Alex whistles. "You’ve got guts. I’d be hiding under a desk right now."

"I’m not scared of her," I say, and it’s not a lie. I’m angry. Furious, even. But scared? No. Not yet.

----------------------------------------

Halfway through the afternoon, the inevitable happens: I get called to the principal’s office. The announcement crackles over the PA during History, and the whole class goes quiet. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me as I stand, grabbing my bag with a casualness I don’t feel.

"Don’t forget to grab a hall pass," Mr. Taylor says, his voice dripping with forced cheer. "Wouldn’t want you getting into any more trouble, right?"

The walk to the office feels longer than usual, every step echoing in the empty hallway. By the time I get there, I’m bracing for the worst. Principal Heckerman’s door is open, and he gestures for me to come in without looking up from his desk. What's the order of the day today - suspension? Expulsion?

"Mrs. Small," he says, folding his hands on the desk. "Do you have any idea how many emails I’ve gotten today because of you?"

"I’m guessing more than zero," I say, slouching in the chair.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "You’re not wrong. Listen, I get it. You’re passionate. You care about... whatever it is you were trying to accomplish with that stunt in the assembly. And I understand your... situation," he says, gesturing to my burnt arm still wrapped up in a sling. "But you can’t just go around accusing city officials of murder in front of the entire school."

"It wasn’t an accusation," I say, crossing my arms. "It was a question."

Heckerman gives me a look. "Samantha, do you think I am an idiot?"

I bristle a little bit.

"Sam," he repeats.

"What?" I say, feigning innocence. "It’s not my fault if people interpreted it that way. I’m just curious."

He sighs again, rubbing his temples. "Look, I’m not here to argue with you. I just need you to understand that there are consequences for this kind of behavior. You’ve put the school in a very awkward position."

"Because I asked a question?" I shoot back.

Heckerman leans back in his chair, looking even more tired than usual. "Sam. I understand that you have... had a rough go of things the past couple of years. Believe it or not, I do care about my students, and I count you among that number. Just... consider that your actions might have consequences for the rest of the school."

He stares at me. I match his gaze. He pushes his bowl of M&Ms slightly towards me. Then again, until I take a handful and angrily stuff them into my mouth. I feel like an annoyed chipmunk.

"I'm semi-familiar with the McKinley case - that serial arsonist you mentioned, I did my research. I'm not going to blame you, because he's clearly a nut, but we have to recognize the elephant in the room that several of your classmates got set on fire as collateral damage, presumably, to get to you. I don't know what you and Mrs. Richardson know about each other, and I don't want to know, but I'll tell you what I told you last month; This isn’t the first public school threatened by supervillains and it won’t be the last, but I’m not going to let it put the other students in danger."

I resist the urge to snark at him. My first impulse is to say "your point being?", but I shove it down with a swallow full of chocolate. "Okay," I say, trying to draw out the rest of his lecture.

"Just... don't do it again, please, okay? I don't think detention, suspension, or expulsion will really do anything to change your behavior. So this is me asking you as an adult in a very tough situation to please consider the safety of the other students before you accuse politicians of murder. Please?"

"Fine," I say, half through a breath. I'm not sure if I mean it or not - I feel bad pushing against his obvious sincerity, but, like... I can't make any promises, John. Sorry!

"Thank you," he says, clearly relieved. "You can go back to class now."

----------------------------------------

By the time the final bell rings, the whispers have died down a little, but the looks haven’t. People are still watching, still waiting for me to do something else stupid. But I’m not giving them the satisfaction. Not today.

Jordan catches up with me at the lockers, their scarf trailing behind them like a superhero cape. "So, how was the principal’s office?"

"Same as always," I say, slamming my locker shut. "He told me not to do it again, and I told him I wouldn’t. End of story."

Jordan smirks. "And by 'end of story,' you mean you’re definitely doing it again."

"Well, hopefully the next politician that is also an evil supervillain won't come directly knocking into my school. So I won't have to," I say, grinning. "You know, next time."

Jordan shakes their head, laughing. "You’re gonna get yourself killed one day, you know that?"

"Yeah," I say, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "But not today."