---
Chapter 10: Detention, Death Stares, and Dangerous Plots
Leon's POV
Hi guys, this is Leon.
*Checks email*
Apparently the author wants me to shout out you. Yeah, you—the reader. Says the feedback's been keeping him afloat in the sea of introverted despair. So… thanks, I guess?
Anyway, this confirms my theory that my life is just entertainment for a bored author with unresolved social trauma. Cool.
---
Detention was as awkward as a children's show filming a sex scene.
Spy Kids meets Fifty Shades. Zero budget. No parental guidance.
I don't remember walking there. Pretty sure I astral projected out of pure shame.
The room was cold—not "chilly," but the kind of cold that makes your soul question its tax returns. Emotional frostbite.
Ms. Dennings sat at the front desk with the energy of a prison warden forced to supervise a middle school musical. She tapped her pen like it owed her money. Her vibe said she'd given up on teenagers around the time Friends ended.
The seating arrangement was a social experiment in cruelty.
Me, dead center.
MJ, left of me—nail-tapping like she was building a murder manifesto.
Gwen, right of me—arms crossed, eyes forward, pretending I was air pollution.
Felicia, two desks back—chewing gum and smiling like this was her favorite telenovela.
Liz, behind me—muttering "unbelievable" every seven seconds like it was a mantra.
Roxy—next to me, legs crossed, smirk deployed, existing solely to torment my soul.
Xander—back corner, clenched jaw, radiating "I could punch the moon" energy.
Total silence for ten minutes. You could hear my dignity unraveling.
Then MJ broke it.
"So... food fight, huh?" she said sweetly.
Weaponized sweetness. Legal in exactly three states.
"I tripped," I muttered. "With a tray. Physics betrayed me."
And boom. There it is.
The mastermind behind last chapter's chaos, ladies and gentlemen.
"A simple slip," Roxy echoed, like she'd found religion.
"Sure," Gwen replied flatly. "Physics. That's what we're calling war crimes now."
"I didn't ask for mashed potatoes in my soul!" I whisper-yelled.
"I like a man who takes charge," Roxy whispered in my ear.
Her breath: hot. My spine: disintegrating.
"Oi! Brat! Hands off!" Dennings snapped.
She didn't notice the other girls also leaning forward like a gang of seductive velociraptors ready to eat their own.
Felicia leaned in. "Honestly? Ten out of ten splash radius. You hit three cheerleaders, a janitor, and the weird mural of the school mascot."
"Leon the Lionheart," MJ added, smirking. "Defender of cafeteria chaos."
Since when was that my surname?
I dropped my head to the desk and tried to phase through it.
Then the door creaked open.
Enter: Principal Merton.
Clipboard in hand. Face like a passive-aggressive spreadsheet.
"This is not summer camp," she said, her voice filed under Legal Threats. "This is detention. What you did could've caused a riot. Or a TikTok lawsuit."
"We did cause a riot," Gwen deadpanned.
"And it's already viral," Liz added, eyes on her phone.
"Six point four million views," she clarified.
I considered ceasing to exist.
Merton sighed. "Effective immediately, you're all in morning detention the rest of the week. No clubs. No off-campus lunch. No extracurriculars."
Roxy raised her hand. "Does seducing Leon count as extracurricular?"
Gwen: "Stop talking."
MJ: "I second that."
Felicia: "She stole my line."
Merton rubbed her temples like we were giving her migraines psychically. "Dismissed. All of you. Monday. 7 AM sharp."
It's weekend!! Hallelujah! I can finally rest from school dram-
Then she pointed at me. "Except you. You're staying."
"WHY?!"
No answer. Just her heels clicking away like judgmental metronomes. Everyone else filed out—some glaring, some smirking, most grumbling.
Only one lingered.
Xander.
He stood at the door. Didn't look at me. Looked through me.
"When I'm done with you," he muttered, "you'll wish mashed potatoes were the worst part of your life."
And just like that—poof. Gone.
---
Principal Merton's Office
Nice place. Y'know, if you ignore the lingering scent of discipline and unfulfilled potential then it could definitely be a work of art.
Merton folded her hands like a Bond villain. "Leon. How many times have you visited this office this week?"
"On or off camera?"
She didn't blink. "Just answer."
"Officially? Three. Unofficially... I plead the fifth."
"Leon," she said like it hurt, "you have potential. You're smart, charismatic. But you waste it on chaos and—" she glanced at her notes, "—'sexual tension and science crimes.'"
Look, I'll have you know I'm a dignified virgin (18)M. My chaos is scientific.
"I..." I tried, failed to justify anything.
"I'm giving you one last chance. A project."
My eyebrow raised. "Not a prison sentence or a court date?"
"You're going to organize the school's talent show Monday."
...
"The what?"
I was wrong! Give me the Court date.
"You heard me. Make it not lame. Showcase talent. Prove you're more than a hormonal meme generator. And do it without causing an incident."
She wasn't joking. I wished she was joking.
"And one more thing." She leaned in, voice dropping. "There are rumors. Substances. I want ears to the ground. You hear anything weird, you come to me."
Weird? Oh yeah.
Cue: Xander's mashed-potato death threat.
"Understood," I said, already feeling the weight of the worst extra credit assignment in human history.
---
Xander's POV
Empty locker room. No witnesses. Perfect.
He popped open the hidden utility cabinet behind the supply lockers. Coach Rodriguez's "don't-touch" stash.
Inside was a vial.
Matte-black glass. Viscous, ink-like fluid swirling inside. Label: ?? Gene. Military grade.
And Xander? He wasn't going to test it on some rat.
He had a target.
Leon Walter.
---
Back to Me (aka Leon, your host of regret)
I couldn't sleep that night.
Was it the tension? The dread? The idea of organizing a talent show where someone will bring a ukulele?
Or was it something else?
Like a weight in the air. Like gravity itself was getting heavier and only I noticed.
My fists clenched.
"Just nerves," I told myself.
Just nerves.
Right?
---