Lunch had long ended, but the group still sat at their corner table, surrounded by empty trays and half-finished drinks. The paper lay in the middle—creased, coffee-stained, and somehow already sacred.
"Alright," Kora said, tapping her pen against the table. "Everyone gets one thing to add. Something that means something to you. Not just dumb dares, okay?"
"Agreed," Suzy said. "No pranks. No trespassing. No—"
"Fun?" Michael cut in, smirking.
"Chaos," Michelle corrected.
Mia smiled faintly. "Okay, I'll go first." She took a deep breath, eyes flicking to the list. "I want to do something that scares me. Not dangerous—just something that reminds me I'm alive."
Kora tilted her head. "Like what?"
Mia hesitated, chewing her lip. "I don't know yet. Maybe singing at open mic night. Or… confessing something I've kept hidden."
Jordan looked at her quietly. "Something you've kept hidden, huh?"
Their eyes met for a second too long—long enough for Kora to notice and smirk.
"Alright, lover girl," she teased. "We'll circle back to that one later."
Mia rolled her eyes, trying to hide her blush.
"Okay, my turn," Jordan said, breaking the moment. "I want us to do a night adventure. Just one. No phones, no plans. We just… go somewhere, together. See what happens."
"Spontaneous," Suzy said. "I like it."
"It's also how horror movies start," Michelle muttered, earning a laugh from everyone.
"Fine, I'll add one," Kora said, scribbling on the paper. "Mine's simple—bury a time capsule. Something that'll remind us of who we were… in case we forget."
That one made the table quiet for a moment.
Then Suzy leaned in. "I'll go. I want us to do one good thing for someone—like, actually make a difference. Not for likes, not for school credit. Just… because."
"Deep," Michael said. "Guess that means I can't say 'win the senior prank war,' huh?"
Everyone groaned.
"Fine," he said, pretending to sulk. "Then I'll say… do something none of us will ever admit we did."
Michelle rolled her eyes. "Great. I'll be the one bailing you out."
But as she took the pen, her voice softened. "I want us to promise something. No matter what happens after graduation, we don't forget each other."
Mia looked around the table. Her friends—loud, messy, imperfect—felt like home. For a moment, everything else faded: the stress of college forms, the fear of growing up, the questions she never asked Jordan.
"Then it's settled," she said quietly. "This is our list."
Kora folded the paper carefully. "And we start tomorrow."
As they stood to leave, the school's old clock struck three. The sound echoed through the nearly empty cafeteria—slow, hollow, and heavy.
For some reason, it sent a shiver down Mia's spine. She couldn't explain why.
Maybe it was the way the light hit the window.
Maybe it was the way Jordan looked at her when he thought she wasn't watching.
Or maybe it was something else—something waiting just beyond the end of high school.
Whatever it was, it felt like a beginning.
And somewhere deep down, Mia knew… not everyone would come out of this list the same.