School

Mia Chen pressed her eye to the viewfinder of her camera, adjusting the focus until the peeling blue paint of locker 213 came into sharp relief. The hallway was deserted; most students had fled as soon as the final bell rang. But Mia preferred the quiet, using these after-school hours to work on her photography project undisturbed. She snapped a few shots, then lowered the camera with a frown. Something about the composition felt off. Mia took a step closer, studying the locker. That’s when she heard it - a faint whisper, barely audible, seeming to emanate from inside the metal door. ...

Professor Aldric’s chalk screeched across the board as he scrawled a series of dates in his spidery handwriting. The sound made half the class wince, but the eccentric history teacher seemed oblivious to their discomfort. He turned to face the room, his wild gray hair sticking out at odd angles and his tweed jacket covered in a fine dusting of chalk. “Now then,” he said, peering at the students over the rims of his wire-framed glasses. “Who can tell me the significance of these years?” ...

The fluorescent lights flickered as Zara Chen hunched over her notebook, scribbling furiously. Around her, other students chatted and laughed, their voices a dull roar that faded into background noise. Zara barely noticed them. Her mind was consumed by the equation sprawled across the page, an intricate dance of variables and constants that seemed to pulse with potential. “Zara? Earth to Zara!” A hand waved in front of her face, breaking her concentration. Zara blinked, looking up to see her best friend Mira grinning at her. ...

Zoe Chen stared at the cast list posted outside the auditorium, her heart sinking. There it was in black and white: “Juliet - Emily Chen.” Of course her perfect older sister had snagged the lead role. Again. Zoe’s eyes scanned down the list, searching for her own name. She finally found it near the bottom: “Lady Montague - Zoe Chen.” Lady Montague? The character had like two lines in the entire play. Zoe clenched her fists, fighting back tears of frustration. ...

Mira’s fingers twitched as she stared at the blank canvas before her. The pristine white surface seemed to mock her indecision, daring her to make the first mark. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. The familiar scent of acrylic paint and graphite pencils filled her nostrils, grounding her in the present moment. When she opened her eyes again, determination sparked within them. With swift, sure strokes, she began to sketch. Lines flowed from her pencil, gradually coalescing into the weathered face of Mr. Holloway, her beloved art teacher. ...

The shrill ring of the school bell pierced through the bustling hallways of Oakwood High, signaling the start of another mundane Monday. Milo Patel shuffled into his first-period English class, keeping his head down and clutching his worn leather notebook to his chest like a shield. As he slid into his usual seat in the back corner, he caught a glimpse of Zoe Chen’s glossy black ponytail a few rows ahead. His heart did its usual somersault. ...