Sitting in the principal's office, defeated, I did the only thing I could think of. I sent a silent plea into the air. Luna. Help.
The lights in the office flickered. Mr. Alvarez frowned, looking up at the fluorescent bulb.
His computer monitor flashed on by itself. The login screen vanished, replaced by the file directory for our USB drive. Mr. Alvarez stared, open-mouthed.
Then, the printer in the corner whirred to life. On its own. It began printing, page after page after page. The forged permits. Miguel Reyes's journal. Hector's panicked social media messages.
The principal stood up, his face a mask of confusion and dawning horror as the evidence spilled out, page by damning page, onto the floor. He couldn't delete it. He couldn't stop it.
Luna couldn't speak to him, but she could speak through the machine. She was the ghost in the machine, and she was finally telling her story to someone in authority, whether he wanted to hear it or not.
Mr. Alvarez looked from the printer to our terrified faces, finally understanding that he was in way over his head. The carefully constructed wall of lies was crumbling right in front of him. The game had changed again.