"...and when kinetic energy is converted into thermal energy, the system loses mechanical motion. This is crucial in understanding how magnetic friction dampens sliding objects."
Mr. Walice's voice filled the classroom, bouncing off sterile white walls and hovering above rows of half-awake students. Most of them nodded along, scribbling notes or pretending to. All except one.
"Mr. Olwell," the teacher said sharply, his voice slicing through the air like a cold ruler crack on a desk.
Max blinked. He had been staring blankly at the holographic projection of the periodic table spinning in slow orbit above the board. He hadn't heard the question. Or the explanation. Or really, anything since the bell rang this morning.
"Uh… kinetic mass converts into... light?" Max guessed, his voice unsure, eyes darting like he hoped to catch the right answer floating in the air.
The class chuckled. A few rolled their eyes.
Mr. Walice didn't return the smile. "No, Mr. Olwell. That would be nuclear fusion, and I highly doubt you're splitting atoms in your garage. Mr. Bergkamp?"
A hand shot up from the second row. Jeff Bergkamp—perfect posture, clean glasses, uniform ironed to regulation.
"When kinetic energy is converted into thermal energy due to friction, mechanical movement is lost. The system becomes inefficient," Jeff said matter-of-factly.
"Correct, Mr. Bergkamp. As always. Thank you."
The bell rang, cutting through the silence like salvation.
Books slammed shut. Bags zipped. The smell of dry markers and cold AC was replaced by the rush of summer-bound teenage anxiety. Mr. Walice raised his voice above the shuffle.
"Before you run off to enjoy your break, remember—report cards are being handed out in my office. One by one."
A few groans. A few "ugh, really?"s. But no one argued.
Max quietly slid his books into his bag, slowly. Like dragging time. As students shuffled past each other and bolted out the classroom door, JP—lanky, dark curls, always smiling—swerved by Max's desk.
"I'm going ahead. Gonna get it over with. Save you a spot!" JP chirped.
Max smirked, offering a lazy thumbs up.
JP raced after a trio of kids bolting down the hallway toward Mr. Walice's office. Max took his time. He always did.
The school felt heavier when empty. Max's sneakers squeaked faintly against the floor as he walked, past locker doors left ajar, past faded holo-posters on the wall warning about exam prep strategies and time-management routines. None of it stuck.
He was in his third year of middle school. The final stretch before high school… assuming he passed. He already knew the answer to that. His grades were hanging below average like a storm cloud refusing to burst. Summer school wasn't a possibility—it was a certainty.
As he walked, he passed windows overlooking the courtyard where kids from other grades were already cheering and waving goodbye. Some had tossed their textbooks into a trash bin shaped like a robot's mouth, triggering a mechanical "Thank you!" and a burst of confetti.
Max sighed. They were leaving. He was staying.
Finally, he rounded the corner and saw the line. JP was near the front, waving him over.
"Yo, Max! Your spot's safe!"
Max picked up the pace just slightly and joined him. A few minutes passed before it was his turn.
The office was small and smelled faintly of ink and old carpet. Mr. Walice sat behind a clean desk, typing something into a console. He looked up as Max entered.
"Mr. Olwell," he said. "Have a seat."
Max sat.
"How've you been?" Mr. Walice asked. "Anything going on? At home, or… here?"
There was a pause. Max hesitated. Then shrugged.
"No. Just… been tired."
The teacher didn't nod. He didn't smile. He pulled out a slim card from a drawer and handed it to Max. "I won't sugarcoat this. Your averages won't get you into high school."
Max took the card, already knowing what he'd see.
C.
C.
C+.
One B, in art. He barely looked at it.
Mr. Walice leaned forward. "It's not just one subject, Max. It's across the board. I'll be calling your mother. Summer school will be required."
Max nodded. "I figured."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was just... final.
"Can I go?" Max asked.
Mr. Walice nodded. "Yes. But get some sleep, Olwell. You look like you haven't had proper rest in days."
Max nodded again and stood up.
Outside, JP was waiting, eyes hopeful.
"Well?" he asked.
Max didn't answer.
"I'm going in—don't move," JP said, and ducked inside before Max could stop him.
Max headed toward the front entrance, pushing open the double doors. The sky was pale blue, with clouds streaking across like tired brush strokes.
A few minutes later, JP joined him, holding his report card like a failed lottery ticket.
"B-minus," he groaned. "Stupid chemistry. I'm stuck in summer school just for one subject."
Max glanced at him. "That's not bad."
"It's chemistry," JP snapped dramatically. "The evil subject. You?"
Max showed him his.
JP blinked. "Man... That's a lot of Cs."
"Another year," Max said quietly.
"Another year," JP echoed, patting his shoulder.
"You coming to the Clouded Core?" JP asked, referring to their usual end-of-year hangout.
"Not this time," Max replied. "I just wanna sleep."
JP nodded. "I get it. Recharge."
Max crossed the street to a transit pod station—a slide rail tram that connected Bronnside with the rest of the city. He stepped inside, the doors sealing behind him with a hiss.
Sliding into a seat, Max opened his phone. Checked his email. Hit refresh once. Twice.
No new messages.
Just a row of old ones, all sent by him.
TO: VALOR PROTOCOL
SUBJECT: Application #47
SUBJECT: Application Follow-Up
SUBJECT: Please Respond
He sighed and closed the screen.
Just as he was about to plug in his earpieces, a shuffling figure bumped into him. An older woman, white curls and frown lines, stumbled a bit, muttering something sharp under her breath.
"Sorry," Max mumbled.
She gave him a glare as if he'd knocked her entire day sideways.
He looked away, guilt rising like a bitter taste.
Then he slipped the earpieces in. Music drowned the world.
The tram hissed to life and pulled from the station, heading toward Bronnside, the city's older sector. The sun slipped further down the sky.
Max leaned back, closed his eyes, and waited for everything to blur.