The main hall was a chaos of good intentions. Chairs screeched across the polished floor, brooms swished, and the dust of a school year hung in the slants of afternoon light. Martin pushed his broom in slow, desultory arcs, creating neat little piles of dirt he didn’t really see. Caleb moved among the chair stacks like a silent, efficient machine, his expression perpetually grim. Jennifer worked a few yards away, the distance between her and Martin a tangible, painful thing.

  The silence between them became too heavy to bear. Mustering her courage, Jennifer walked over. She didn’t speak. Instead, she gently tapped her broom handle against his. Clack.

  “Hey,” she said, offering a tentative, hopeful smile.

  Martin didn’t flinch. Didn’t turn. He kept sweeping, his eyes fixed on the floor as if she were just another ghost in the room. Jennifer’s smile died, replaced by a deep, worried crease in her brow.

  At that moment, the hall’s main doors swung open. Ava walked in, a picture of casual disregard, followed by Jeremy. They shared a look—brief, charged—before Jeremy peeled off to join his group of friends lounging near the stage. Ava, however, continued her path, which took her directly past Martin.

  As she passed, her foot shot out, not at him, but at the broom in his hands. The handle was kicked cleanly from his grip, clattering loudly to the floor.

  “HEY!” Jennifer’s shout was immediate, sharp with protective anger.

  Ava didn’t even break stride. She just kept walking, a faint, cold smirk on her lips as she disappeared into the crowd of cleaning students.

  The commotion finally made Martin look up, his confusion cutting through his stupor. But before he could process the deliberate slight, Jeremy and his friends sprang into action. Under the guise of “helping,” they began moving a large stack of chairs with exaggerated, clumsy energy, directly into the area where Martin and Jennifer stood.

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  “Whoa, watch it!”

  “Coming through!”

  They bumped into Martin, jostled Jennifer, making it impossible to avoid them. Jennifer tried to protest. “Can you guys slow down? Be careful!”

  As suddenly as they’d arrived, they moved away, the chairs deposited haphazardly nearby. One of Jeremy’s friends wrinkled his nose. “Ugh, what’s that smell? Smells like… pee?”

  Others in the vicinity began to sniff the air. Jennifer frowned; she couldn’t smell anything strong.

  Then a girl from their class, who had been sweeping nearby, gasped. She was staring at the back of Martin’s trousers. The light-brown fabric of his uniform pants was darkened in a large, damp patch at the seat. “What’s that?” she exclaimed, pointing.

  Every eye in the vicinity turned to Martin. The color of the fabric made the wet spot starkly visible.

  One of Caleb’s friends, drawn by the pointing, stepped closer. He leaned in, then recoiled dramatically, pinching his nose. “Eww, gross! Martin, did you pee yourself?”

  The dam broke. A wave of laughter erupted, cruel and ringing. It started as snickers, then grew into full-throated howls. “A 14-year-old who can’t hold it!” someone yelled. “Did you miss the toilet, Cologna?”

  Martin stood frozen, his face draining of all color. He looked down at himself, then back at the jeering faces. “I didn’t… it wasn’t me!” he stammered, the words weak against the tidal wave of ridicule. “Someone must have…”

  “Quiet down!” Jennifer yelled, stepping in front of him, her voice trembling with fury. “All of you, just shut up!”

  The supervising teacher, alerted by the uproar, hurried over. “What is going on here? Why is this area in disarray?”

  Jeremy spoke up, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “It’s Martin, sir. Seems he had a little… accident. Couldn’t hold it in.”

  The teacher’s eyes went to the obvious stain on Martin’s trousers, then to his pale, horrified face. The teacher’s own expression shifted from annoyance to stunned disbelief.

  Seizing the moment, Jeremy delivered the final, vicious blow. “Maybe his parents should change their name from Cologna to Cologne. You know, ’cause that’s what he needs right now.”

  The hall exploded in renewed, roaring laughter. It wasn’t just sound to Martin; it was a physical pressure, building inside his skull, deafening, suffocating. His vision tunneled. Through the haze of humiliation, his eyes found Ava. She stood at the edge of the crowd, watching. Not laughing, just watching. Her eyes met his, and slowly, deliberately, she mouthed two words:

  One week. Time’s up.

  That was the trigger.

  A blur of motion erupted from the side of the hall. Caleb, who had been silently moving chairs, had seen everything. His usual impassive mask shattered into pure, unadulterated rage. He covered the distance between himself and Jeremy in three long strides.

  There was no warning, no shout. Just the solid, sickening CRUNCH of his fist connecting with Jeremy’s jaw.

  The laughter died instantly, replaced by gasps and shouts. The carefully orchestrated humiliation had just turned violently, explosively real.