By Wednesday, the campus is buzzing like a live wire. The energy's wrong—too sharp, too expectant.
Minji finds me early, plopping down hard at my table.
"Heard our little music rebellion made the rounds. Now everyone wants a piece."
I stir old cocoa with a broken stirrer. "Just wait. The second people smell change, they want to buy it, sell it, or strangle it. Usually in that order."
Jay folds in beside us, hoodie up, sketchbook out. Dao drops his backpack with a soft thud—circles under his eyes betraying how much he hasn't slept.
Rina's last, new bruise above her eyebrow, walking with the easy bounce of someone spoiling for another argument.
"I heard Sungho tried to corner you last night," Dao says to Rina.
She shrugs. "He can bark. I don't fetch."
Jay smirks but lifts his gaze. "Rumor is he's working with—get this—some old third-years. Like the school needed more mid-bosses."
I pick up on it right away. "Someone's setting a stage for an endgame. They want to close the book before anyone gets to rewrite the last chapter."
Minji pokes my shoulder, voice conspiratorial. "You saying someone's writing us out?"
I grin, wolfish. "Let's write back—and bolder."
Morning classes feel less like lectures, more like pressure cookers set to whistle. Kids fidget, whispers flowing across rows: side bets, alliances, wild guesses about "what happens next."
Between periods, Daniel and Zack corner me by the water fountain.
Daniel: "There's word the teachers are planning to shut down after-school clubs. Claim it's to 'restore order.'"
Zack: "Funny how order only matters when you aren't the one setting the rules."
I size them up, careful. "If the only tool you know is a hammer, everything starts to look like a nail."
Zack cracks a knuckle. "Then they better not expect museum glass around here."
Jay, sliding in silent on my right, draws an arrow pointing up the hall. "Next move?"
Before I can answer, an announcement blares overhead:
"Emergency assembly, sixth period. Attendance required."
Minji rolls her eyes. "The adults are about to start acting like villains."
Rina: "They're just background noise—turn up the volume, drown them out."
Sixth period. The gym's repurposed—teachers stand like security forces, eyes sharp, postures stiff. Rows fill with students in patchwork cliques.
Principal Choi takes the mic, voice slow, "We've seen increasing disruptions. Rumors, fighting, unsanctioned events. Today, we return to peace."
Muted laughter ripples; nobody's convinced.
He scrolls a tablet, fixes the spotlight on a cluster: Vasco, Daniel, Zack, some upperclass muscle, the old drama queen from the musicals, even Minji and—I catch my own name, bright as neon.
"If you want this school to stay open, you need to stop the stories. No more unsanctioned meets. No more fights. This is my final warning."
I lean forward, heart thudding. Jay sketches an evil-eyed principal in the margins of his notebook.
Minji mutters, "They think shutting us up stops the music."
Rina: "If a door closes, smash a window."
Dao's phone buzzes—a text from an unknown number:
"Roof, 7pm. Change the story."
Jay fists his hands, determined. "You in?"
I answer, eyes lit. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."
After assembly, students crowd the halls. Factions argue, try to one-up the tension with their own rumors: "He'll start suspending people." "Secret cameras now." "It's just a threat—provoke him harder."
Daniel catches up again, calmer now. "If you're meeting, pick your words. They're watching for blood, but what scares them more is unity."
Zack: "Let them watch. Better than them turning their backs."
Minji's already strategizing, half-whisper. "If we draw everyone to the roof, make it about hope, music, new clubs—not war or bets—they can't justify kicking us out."
Rina grins, wild. "So, we throw an un-party. Rebels with a cause."
Jay sketches a title on the back of a flyer: "The Stray Project."
Last class creeps slow. I write notes, mind spinning with possibilities: music, drama, hidden games, codes only the bold can crack.
Dao checks a notebook—"Should we invite everyone or just the ones who want the world changed?"
Jay answers, voice distant, "Anyone with a heartbeat and a half-decent dream."
School lets out into heavy sky.
Minji: "Are you ready for backlash?"
I answer, sure as prophecy. "They wanted silence. We bring noise."
Seven p.m., rooftop. Night hovers heavy, spitting drizzle that glows under dead-white security lamps.
Jay, Minji, Rina, Dao. One by one, other faces emerge—some familiar, some faded, some from rival crews. Daniel steps up, hands in pockets, expression unreadable. Zack and Jace lean against the fence, nodding at the crowd but keeping watch.
A speaker appears—stolen from the AV club, wired to a phone loaded with forbidden playlists. Rina queues up music, Minji steadies the mic. Jay scrawls names of everyone present, page after page.
I step forward—no speech, just a question: "You came for a reason, didn't you?"
Hundred eyes turn. Rain dots their hair, their sneakers. Truth flickers in the dark—everyone wants tomorrow, nobody wants yesterday.
Minji plays the first track; voices unite, humming, sometimes offbeat but defiant.
Rina belts a verse—strong, flawed, hers alone.
Daniel steps up, surprising everyone: he confesses just how lost he'd felt, how rumor and rivalry make people enemies before they're even friends.
Jay reads a poem he wrote on a napkin. Rina improvises. Dao joins, nervous, but his words stitch together a kind of shared courage.
I say: "If you want the world to hear you, don't shout. Sing."
Lights from classrooms blink as some teachers watch, others pretend not to. The speaker buzzes—music, declarations, cheers, confessions. Tears mix with laughter, rain streams down cheeks and painted shoes.
Music falls quiet. Silence stretches—no threat, no challenge, just something new in the air.
Rina catches my gaze, fierce. "We did it."
Jay, notebook full, "They'll never erase tonight."
Minji sighs, calm for once. "They can't shut us all up."
Dao hugs his bag, hope in his eyes. Daniel shakes my hand, solid. Zack grins, wild and proud.
For a second, the city's heartbeat matches ours.
We leave the roof, dripping, alive. Rumor's no longer about war or bets or kings—it's about a crowd that dared to witness each other.
I walk home, lighter than usual, phone pinging with echoes from what we built.
Tonight, not even the teachers threaten; the world seems to tilt in our favor for once.