We were all standing on the soaked grass outside the school, dripping like miserable cats as the fire department tried to extinguish what used to be the top floor of the school's main building. It was now a very crispy memory. Sprinklers had gone full apocalypse-mode, and my once-light-pink top now clung to me like shrink wrap on shame.
The air reeked of smoke, steam, and teen panic. Students were filming the blaze like it was their influencer debut. Sirens wailed. Someone was crying. Someone else was vlogging. It was complete, glorious mayhem.
Isha, standing next to me like a tiny chaos goblin, suddenly held her arms out to the sky like she was summoning Thor. "Do I have, like, a superpower or something? One that grants me whatever I say? Is this real life?" she said, half-joking, half-dead serious. "Okay, okay—two wads of hundred-dollar bills. Now."
She stared at her hands like cash would suddenly materialize out of thin air. When nothing happened—shockingly—she dropped her arms and pouted. "Ugh. I guess I don't have powers after all."
I gave her my best dead-eyed stare. "You idiot. What did you expect? Superpowers aren't real. You find them in movies. Or, you know, dreams—where logic goes to die."
She huffed, arms crossed. "Well, if they weren't real, why would they make movies about them? Explain that with science."
"You seriously want to argue fantasy versus reality right now?" I asked, blinking water out of my eyes like a weary raccoon.
Before she could deliver her TED Talk on why Harry Potter was probably a documentary, a familiar deep voice cut through the smoke.
"Superpowers aren't real," Cameron said flatly. And at that exact moment, a warm weight draped over my shoulders.
It was his jacket.
His actual, blue-and-white varsity jacket that probably cost more than my life savings and smelled like pinewood, citrus, and male privilege.
I blinked. He and Liam stood beside us, suspiciously dry. Unlike us, they didn't look like they had just crawled out of a sewer pipe.
"Weren't you two in the building?" I asked, voice rising. "How are you not soaked like the rest of us?"
"We just got here," Liam said, as casually as if he hadn't just missed a school-wide disaster. "Saw the smoke from the road."
That's when Cameron leaned in. Not dramatically, not slowly—just close enough for his breath to fan against my ear. I tensed up like someone had hit me with a stun gun.
"I can see through your top," he whispered.
I flinched so hard I almost face-planted into a puddle. My brain rebooted mid-sentence. Then, I looked down.
Oh.
The wet fabric of my baby-pink shirt had turned traitor, sticking to my skin and making the outline of my very black bra crystal clear. Like, broadcast-on-HD clear.
I could've died. Like, actually laid down on the wet pavement and given up.
Muttering a barely audible, "Thanks," I yanked the jacket tighter around myself like it was armor and shame repellent.
He nodded, all casual and unaffected. Meanwhile, I was in emotional cardiac arrest. Isha was still standing beside me, completely unaware of my existential spiral, now trying to summon a puppy by staring at the sky.
I don't know what's worse—Cameron seeing through my top or the fact that he was right. Ugh. This day was doing the absolute most.
"So how come you two are bone-dry?" Isha asked, snapping out of her superhero delusion. "Pretty sure the sprinklers turned everyone into seaweed. Unless… you weren't inside the building."
"Because we weren't," Liam shrugged. "We literally just arrived."
"How'd this happen anyway?" Cameron asked, finally tearing his eyes away from the scene.
"I heard the janitor dropped a cigarette near the chemistry lab," Isha said, like she'd been working the investigation since sunrise. "Spark met science and boom."
I blinked. "How… where did you hear that?! We've been together this whole time."
She casually pointed at a group of girls filming TikToks a few feet away. "They said it. They look like they know things."
"They look like they wear lip gloss as brain cells," I muttered.
"And how do they know?" Cameron asked.
"The janitor's been here for, like, a hundred years. There's no way he'd be that careless," Liam chimed in, clearly on Team Defend-The-Janitor.
"No one's above mistakes," Isha said with a diplomatic shrug that made her sound like the president of the fire department.
"Why are you coming for the janitor like this?" I asked, laughing.
"I'm not coming for him! I'm just saying… maybe he was stressed. Maybe he needed a smoke and a moment. Maybe he—y'know what? Never mind." She threw her hands up in surrender.
Before I could come up with a solid conspiracy theory, Principal Winston's booming voice came through a megaphone like the ghost of announcements past.
"Students. We apologize for the inconvenience. While this… unfortunate incident is being handled, all students are permitted to go home. Your parents have been contacted and assured of your safety. You may arrange transportation or leave immediately. From this point forward, the school is no longer responsible for your whereabouts. Please get home safely. That is all."
The crowd broke into chaotic, joyful shrieks like the bell had rung for the end of the school year. People were hugging. Someone started singing. One guy actually fainted—no idea if it was from smoke inhalation or excitement.
Isha, naturally, went full Broadway.
"OH. MY. GOD. We're FREE! Until further notice! Free from the clutches of math homework and cafeteria mystery meat! I might cry… actual tears of joy!"
I rolled my eyes so hard I almost saw my own brain. "Don't be dramatic."
"Wouldn't it be boring, though?" Cameron asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "It's not like the world is shut down. The streets are gonna be dead."
"Says who?" Isha snapped. "You wanna go see for yourself?"
"Or you just want an excuse to hang out," Liam muttered, not-so-quietly under his breath.
"I heard that," Isha growled, aiming her full death-glare at him. "Anyway—anyone up for Cosmo?"
Cosmo, in case you're new to this circus, is our favorite overpriced eatery with killer milkshakes and exactly two good waiters.
"Like we have a choice," I muttered under my breath. Isha had already decided, which meant resistance was futile.
"Well, I don't wanna go home," Liam shrugged.
"I'll pay," Cameron said smoothly.
Of course. Rich boy energy. Insert eye-roll.
Isha clapped her hands like a kid promised ice cream. "Yay! Let's gooooo!"
She practically skipped toward the parking lot, already halfway there.
I stood there, Cameron's jacket warming my shoulders, wet hair sticking to my face, watching my best friend act like she'd just won a lifetime supply of glitter.
And for the first time that day, I cracked a smile.
God help me, this disaster of a Monday might actually turn out okay.