11

The next morning felt different.
People still whispered in the hallways, but now their voices carried something new — fear.
The photo of the projector screen had spread everywhere. No one knew who posted it, but everyone had seen the words: You’re next.

In first period, Ms. Miller didn’t look at me once.
She kept glancing at the door instead, her hands trembling every time someone walked by.
When I asked if she was okay, she just said, “Some truths are better left alone.”

Later that day, I overheard two teachers talking near the faculty lounge.
“—They said the footage was deleted months ago.”
“It wasn’t. Someone had a copy.”
Then silence. A door shut. And I realized something I hadn’t before — the school was hiding it too.

By the time I reached my locker, another note was waiting.
Folded neatly, taped to the door, same handwriting.
This one said:
“They lied to protect themselves.”

I looked around, but the hallway was empty.
The lights above flickered once, like a pulse.
And in that brief second of darkness, I saw my reflection in the locker door —
but it wasn’t my face that looked back.