The alarm rang.
Matilda didn't move.
With a groggy hand, she slammed the snooze button and buried herself deeper under the covers—as if time were merely a suggestion.
Ten minutes passed.
Then fifteen.
Suddenly, she jolted up. Her eyes went wide. She grabbed her phone. 8:47 a.m.
"Oh no, no, no!"
She threw off her blanket, her long, knotless black braids whipping behind her. She scrambled to her closet, yanked out mismatched clothes, and wrestled herself into a blue t-shirt while hopping into her jeans. Shoes? Who had time for matching socks?
Matilda dashed out of her apartment, toast still clamped in her mouth, backpack half-zipped.
As she sprinted down the street, she barreled into a man carrying a towering stack of papers. "Sorry!" she yelled over her shoulder.
The papers flew into the air like frightened doves. One sheet slapped against a passing car's windshield. The driver panicked, swerved, and crashed into a roadside trash can. Matilda never noticed.
At the school gate, she picked up the pace.
A painter balanced precariously on a ladder, touching up the campus entrance sign. She brushed past him—bumping the ladder just enough. The man wobbled and toppled backward into a papaya tree. A hard, unripe papaya plummeted, striking a passing student squarely on the head. He fainted instantly. The painter, now covered in leaves and bruises, watched helplessly as his paint bucket tipped, spilling its contents in a grand arc across the face of the approaching principal.
Still unaware of the destruction in her wake, Matilda charged into the classroom building. At the entrance, a teacher stood sipping hot coffee. She burst through the doors. Startled, the teacher spilled the scalding liquid on himself and stumbled backward. That's when— "Matilda!" She froze. The voice came from behind her. The principal.
In her panic, Matilda shot forward, accidentally shoving the coffee-drenched teacher into a nearby table. It flipped. A pie that had been sitting there—probably for someone's birthday—soared through the air like a sugary flying saucer.
Splat. Right into the principal's paint-covered face. A hush fell across the hallway.
Meanwhile, a sleek car pulled up outside Evermore College. Sandro sat silently in the back seat, staring out the window, pretending not to hear his parents. "Don't worry," his mom said, turning around in the passenger seat. "You're going to love it here." "Evermore College is the best in the world," his dad chimed in from the driver's seat. "Clean, disciplined students, high pass rates. It's hard to find anything to criticize." "I agree," his mother added.
The car rolled to a stop. They looked out the windows. There was an ambulance at the gate, loading a fainted student onto a stretcher. Firefighters were trying to rescue a painter from a tree. Cleaners were frantically scrubbing the pavement. The principal stood in the distance, drenched in paint and covered in what looked suspiciously like whipped cream. Near him, a girl was being scolded, her head bowed. Papers littered the road around her like confetti.
Sandro's mother blinked. "Are you sure this is the right place?" His father pulled out a paper map, examined the gate sign, and nodded. "Evermore College. This is it." Without a word, Sandro stepped out, grabbed his bags, and shut the car door. "Well, have a great day!" his mom called. By the time he turned to respond, the car was already pulling away.
Sandro sighed and stood in the midst of the madness. He walked toward his dorm, passing the girl who had been scolded. She glanced up briefly, just enough for their eyes to meet. Then, she looked away. He continued on.
His dorm room was on campus. He opened the door to find stacks of boxes already waiting. He started unpacking—clothes, books, a sketchpad. Near the bottom, he found a framed photo: him and a friend laughing on a beach. He paused, staring at it, then set it on the desk. A knock came at the door. He opened it to find a man in uniform holding a parcel. "Delivery for Sandro Garcia. Please sign." "Delivery?" Sandro frowned. "I didn't order anything." But it had his name. He signed. "Thanks," he said.
He closed the door and opened the box. Inside was a book. "A book?" he muttered. He looked for a sender. No address. No note. The cover read: 15 Chapters. Curious, he flipped it open. Blank.
Suddenly, clouds rolled in outside. A gust of wind slammed into the room. The lights flickered violently. Thunder cracked, shaking the floorboards. Lightning flashed, blindingly white. Startled, Sandro slammed the book shut and rushed to close the windows. As quickly as it began, the storm vanished. Sunlight returned. He peered outside. Nothing strange. Birds were chirping. He returned to the book. Opened it again. Nothing happened. "What is this?" he whispered. "Some kind of notebook?"
That evening, Matilda walked home with her parents. "Can you stop causing trouble for once?" her mom scolded. "I didn't do anything! They're all falsely accusing me!" "That's right," her dad said. "My daughter would never do such a thing. I know her." Matilda nodded vigorously. "Exactly!" Her mother narrowed her eyes. "What about the CCTV footage?" Matilda waved her hand dismissively. "Pfft. That can be fabricated. The principal just doesn't like me." Her mom grabbed her ear. "Looks like you didn't learn your lesson today." "Ow! Mom!" Her dad freed her gently. "Let's just keep walking."
They reached her apartment door. "We've arrived," her dad said. "Go in," her mom added. "And don't forget to lock the door." Matilda hugged them. "Love you!" "Stay safe," her dad called. "I got it!" she said, locking the door behind her.
In her room, she peeked through the curtains and watched them drive away. Then she flopped onto her bed. Something caught her eye. A book sat on her desk. She frowned. "I locked the door this morning... where did this book come from?" she muttered. She walked over and picked it up. 15 Chapters. Her eyes narrowed. She opened it. Blank. "What the heck?" she frowned. "Is this some kind of prank from my parents?"
CRACK.
Thunder exploded overhead. Lightning flashed. The wind howled against the glass. Matilda gasped. She dropped the book and dove under the blanket. Silence. The storm stopped instantly. She stayed hidden, trembling, until sleep finally came