Chapter 3 (Edited)

Here is the edited version of Chapter 3. It ended up dramatically longer and fleshed out. I spent a ton of time writing new scenes and it really should be three distinct chapters, but I wanted to maintain the current chapter numbers. As usual, the plot and themes are the same, but just greatly expanded upon. As always, many thanks to Nemo for the editing! I hope you enjoy the updated version! Let me know what you liked or disliked as I always enjoy getting feedback!

The next morning Kylie felt brittle and fragile. She hadn’t slept well at all and felt the fatigue of the past two days piling upon her shoulders as she pulled into the school parking lot. Timid, uneasy steps took her up the steps to the main entrance as she joined the throng of students entering the building. Just keep swimming, she quoted to herself, searching for anything to lighten the tension. It didn’t work. She tried to avoid everyone, tried to move through the hallways like a ghost but ended up jostling awkwardly around other students on her way to her locker. Each little bump and collision made her grind her teeth. The chatter of voices and dull thump of slammed lockers seemed muffled as if she was stuck underwater. She navigated the familiar route to her locker on autopilot. Maya was already there, waiting, so they could walk to class together.

“I didn’t see you in the parking lot!” she said in her usual overly enthusiastic tone. “You made me walk into this shit hole alone!” she exaggerated her frown as she tilted her head to the side.

Kylie put on her best face when she heard Maya’s voice. Maya’s antics cracked the detached shell she’d enveloped herself with. “Sorry, woke up late,” she murmured, trying to hide her exhaustion. She stepped toward her locker, fumbling the combination twice before the lock finally clicked open. “I didn’t sleep very well ... Shoulder hurts pretty bad.” It does hurt! “It was all I could do to pull myself together this morning.”

Maya’s frown disappeared, replaced by pursed lips and concerned eyes. Kylie swung her locker door open, reaching in to grab her notebook and pen case. Inside, nestled atop her messy pile of textbooks and crumpled practice schedules lay a single folded slip of plain white paper. Her fingers brushed it as she fumbled for her supplies, which seemed to have moved from their usual spot on their own. Confusedly, Kylie turned her head to look for her sparkly pens and saw the paper. She quickly snatched it before Maya noticed, stuffing it into her hoodie pocket.

“I can’t find my stuff,” she told Maya, “You go to class, I’ll be right there.”

Her friend’s lips relaxed, a sincere smile etching on her face. “Are you sure? I don’t care if I’m late! Mrs. Culvert can give me all the tardies she wants!” She put her hands on her hips, trying, and failing, to look tough despite her small size. “Who gives a crap about American History anyway!”

A faint smile twitched across Kylie’s lips as she looked in Maya’s stance, the distance in her eyes easing for a moment. “No, you go ahead, I’ll be right there. Maybe I left it in my car, I’ll go check.”

“Ugh, fine!” Maya pouted as she quickly turned and sauntered off dramatically.

Kylie reached her hand back into her pocket and felt the slip of paper. She stood there, the cold shell resolidifying around her after Maya’s attempt to melt it. She took a deep breath and held it before puffing it out loudly. The paper crinkled in her hand as she pulled it out. With one finger, she tilted the fold up and read it. The message was typed, impersonal, and chillingly direct: The game is on now. 4pm, don’t be late - 202. She read it again. Harrington’s classroom, she knew. Her stomach plummeted. Her breath caught in her throat, sharp and painful. She scanned the note again, then once more, hoping the words would change, but they stubbornly refused. She crumpled the paper into a tight, compact ball in her fist and shoved it back into her hoodie pocket. Closing her locker, she took a deep breath, smoothed her hoodie, and turned on her heels towards first period class. She forgot her pens, her mind distracted by the ominous words.

Kylie slinked through the door to Mrs. Culvert’s classroom and sat down in the chair next to Maya with a little smile. Maya smiled back and together they endured a lecture about early pilgrims and pioneers. Kylie’s thoughts were far away, stuck on the seemingly innocuous words from the note. The note contained only a few ordinary words, yet their weight settled heavily in her chest. The game is on now. Don’t be late, she repeated in her head. But what is the game!? She screamed to no one but herself. By the end of class, Kylie’s elbows pressed into the desk, and her chin rested atop her hands as she stared straight ahead.

Chemistry class offered no sanctuary. Dr. Vance, a lean, toned man with dark hair, droned on about titration calculations. Why is a doctor teaching high school? Kylie pondered. She had no idea what a titration was but did her best to follow along. After the explainer for the lab, she hunched over her notebook, trying desperately to focus on the neat columns of numbers and the precise measurements. She was meticulously transcribing a formula from the chalkboard to her notebook, the pencil she borrowed from Maya hovering over the delicate subscript notation. She looked at the assignment sheet. If it takes 27 ml of 0.1 M NaOH to neutralize 125 ml of HCL solution, what is the concentration of the HCL? Express your answer in moles per liter. Kylie blinked, Huh? before a shadow fell across her page. The sharp scent of something vaguely chemical filled her immediate space.

“Sloppy work, Miss Morgan,” Dr. Vance’s stern voice cut through her concentration, like an ice scraper on a windshield, “You have your volumes backwards.” He leaned over her shoulder, his eyes focused on her worksheet, peering intently at her calculations. “This isn’t a game, you know.” He tapped a finger near her bubbly handwriting. His words, innocuous in any other context, caught Kylie like a poke in the ribs. Game. “Precision. Accuracy. The fundamentals of chemistry require strict attention to detail. Lives depend on getting this right in the real world.” The crumpled note in her pocket seemed to be burning through her hoodie. “I expect better discipline from my students. After all, these calculations are trivial if you want to pass this class,” Vance finished.

Kylie gripped her pencil, bending the sleek wooden shaft slightly. “I’m ... I’m sorry, Dr. Vance, I’m trying my best,” she stuttered out. “It’s just hard to know where the numbers go in the formula.” She dared a peek up at his face and was met by his stern eyes looking back.

Vance breathed loudly out through his nose and raised an eyebrow. “Keep trying, eventually the correct placement will become obvious,” he said, turning away and inspecting another student’s work.

Maya gently rubbed Kylie’s shoulder and whispered conspiratorially, “Sheesh! Why’s he gotta be so brutal all the time!”

Kylie shrugged, “It’s fine,” she assured. “I think he just wants us to excel, kinda like Coach.”

“Hah!” Maya let out too loudly, causing a few heads to snap their way. Vance didn’t seem to notice as his back was still turned toward them. “We’re never going to use this crap anyway! Only nerds care about this stuff!” she continued after lowering the volume of her voice. Kylie just smiled back, her thoughts returning to the note in her pocket.

The final bell after last period announced liberation for most. But to Kylie, it felt like a death knell marching her toward disaster as they walked to the gym’s locker room. Kylie stripped out of her clothes uneasily and slid into her practice leotard, another blue version. The snug fit of the stretchy fabric gripping her body felt less comfortable than before. Just get through practice, she thought as she pulled her hair into its familiar bun. She hadn’t touched her black suit since she was shown the video. The thought of it made her skin crawl and nausea bubbled up from her guts.

Practice was a blur of physical exertion and Coach Miller’s laser focus. Every shouted correction, “Squeeze those glutes tighter! Arch your back further!” pushed Kylie to the edge of exhaustion. She worked through her beam routine with brittle poise, landing every dismount with jarring force, trying to channel her tension into physical precision.

Miller seemed unimpressed, “You’re never going to compete on the big stage with that form, Morgan! Pull it together!” She watched as Kylie sprinted toward the vaulting table. “Again, until it’s perfect! Tighten your form!” Miller’s gaze never left Kylie’s toned body as she sped toward her vault, her eyes clinically observing everything. “Pump those quads, Morgan, like your future depends on it! You need to get higher!”

By the end of practice, Kylie was breathing hard and dripping with sweat. Maya handed her a towel as they headed toward the locker room. “The adults sure seem to be on one today!” she joked, trying to lighten the mood. “They’re just so mean, nothing’s ever good enough.”

Kylie didn’t respond right away as she patted her face with the towel and tried to catch her breath. She slung the towel around her shoulders and shrugged, “That’s just how coaches are. Nothing ever is good enough, even if you win everything. Probably because they sucked when they were younger.”

Maya giggled in agreement.

Inside the locker room, Maya threw her clothes back on over her damp leotard, talking about grilled cheese sandwiches. Kylie wanted to get out of her sweat soaked suit. The stretchy garment felt too tight, too constricting. She gave Maya another little hug as her little blonde best friend headed toward the door. “Gotta get that cheese!” Maya said loudly as she strolled through the door.

Kylie pulled off her leotard and tossed it into her bag. She quickly ran a towel over her body to soak up the remaining sweat, then slipped into a pair of panties followed by baggy sweatpants. She tugged a shirt over her head and then hid it beneath her oversized hoodie, consciously trying to don armor and shield her skin from the eyes that she knew awaited her. She pulled her sneakers back on and moved to check herself in front of the mirror. She was shrouded from head to toe; even her hands were covered by her hoodie sleeves. She grabbed her bag and headed back into the school, each step hesitant and timid.

With leaden feet, she walked the deserted hallway towards Room 202. Her heart thumped harder in her chest with each step as she got closer, steps that sounded too loud in the empty corridor. She stopped outside the familiar wooden door, panic threatening to make her throw up. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then pulled her phone out of her pocket. 3:58. Taking another deep inhale through her nose, I don’t want to go in here. She let it out slowly through her mouth. She grabbed the door handle anyway, clicked the thumb plate down and pushed it open.

Harrington was seated behind his desk. He didn’t look up right away as she entered, but a predatory stillness settled over him. His laptop sat ominously closed before him. Kylie’s eyes flickered to it before lowering to stare at her shoes to avoid looking at him. “Cute outfit,” he said sarcastically, finally looking up and taking her in. “Close the door.” His voice was a command, low and resonant in the quiet room.

Kylie obeyed mechanically and meekly let go of the handle. The soft click of the latch engaging sounded like a sealing tomb. She stayed by the door as it closed, not wanting to move closer.

Harrington stood smoothly and gestured toward the front of his desk. “Come here,” he ordered sternly.

Kylie hesitated as she glanced at him, a frown forming on her face. Harrington was still, expectant, but didn’t react. The tension was palpable as Kylie yielded and took the first timid step forward, clutching her hoodie sleeves in her balled-up fists. She shuffled forward, her sneakers whisking softly. Standing in front of the desk, she did everything she could to avoid looking at him. She found herself looking down at the surface of his desk, the smooth brown color triggering vague memories of the preceding days. The image of the room spinning flashed behind her eyes again.

“I see you got the note,” Harrington announced. The paper, still crinkled into a ball in Kylie’s hoodie pocket, seemed to increase in weight after he spoke. “And on time. Punctuality is a good trait, Miss Morgan,” he continued. He slowly circled around the desk, his polished shoes clicking softly. “Now take it off.”

Kylie stared at him dumbly, searching his face for an explanation. Her tumultuous mind couldn’t process the request as she stood like a deer in the headlights. Harrington chuckled, the corners of his mouth arcing into points. “Let me explain it so you understand,” he said, “this won’t do.” motioning toward her and her baggy clothing. “Take them off.” He waited, but Kylie remained frozen, unable or unwilling to move.

“Not following the rules already, are we?” He sighed dramatically, “Perhaps you need a reminder of what’s at stake,” he said as he stretched his arm back to open his laptop.

“Don’t ... please,” Kylie managed, her voice as weak as a mouse. Involuntarily, she took a step forward as if to prevent the laptop from opening. “I ... I...,” she managed before she swallowed a gulp. The rest of the sentence never rolled off her tongue as the tightness in her throat stopped her voice. She crossed one arm over her chest and drew her hand up to her face, covering her eyes with her hand.

Harrington stayed motionless, letting the drama play out in front of him. He tilted his head to the side as if assessing an experiment ... Or prey. His eyes took in the trembling girl before him, noticing the quivering of her lip, the light shuddering in her shoulders as she breathed shakily. “Come now, you’re an athlete, aren’t you?” he asked suddenly, “Isn’t adversity supposed to make you stronger?” He didn’t expect an answer to his rhetorical question.

Kylie blinked away the tears that were forming in the corners of her eyes. She took a deep, steadying breath, exhaling through her nose. “What ... Why...” Memories flashed through her mind; the water bottle, the inverted room, her black leotard pulled open. “What do you want me to do?” she asked shakily.

“I want you to learn, that’s why we’re here isn’t it? This is all about your future,” he responded matter of factly, his teaching voice back in action. “I’m a teacher after all, it’s my job.” He slid his hand into the pocket of his slacks, found the pen there, and clicked it a few times. Kylie twitched each time the button was pressed. Her eyes darted to his pants pocket where the pen clicked and Harrington took the opportunity to say, “There’ll be time enough for that later.” He took a step toward her, “Now, as your teacher, I expect you to follow my orders while you’re in the classroom ... And while you’re playing the game.”