Chapter 113: Cult Leader, Recruit, or Just Sick?
Jon's Perspective
By the time I finally dragged myself out of bed—groggy, stretching, and amazed that I could inhale without sounding like a haunted accordion—I knew one thing for certain: I was back. Not just "sort of okay," not "functional with tea and Tylenol," but fully and truly back to being my normal, non-hacking cough, non-garlic-foot-scented self.
I did a few experimental coughs. Nothing. Not even a tickle. My lungs weren't staging a rebellion anymore.
Victory.
And this victory meant one thing: time to go back to school. No more lounging under blankets pretending I could still watch one more season of Survivor. No more getting my temperature checked like a car engine light.
I got dressed slowly, savoring the act of putting on real clothes that didn't include pajama pants or fuzzy socks. I pulled on a clean hoodie—emphasis on clean, not that herbal-stained monstrosity I wore during the garlic foot rub phase—and stepped out of my room with the smug satisfaction of someone who had survived both bacteria and bad holistic advice.
Jay was leaning against the kitchen counter eating cereal. He gave me a grunt and a nod, which, in his speak, meant "Glad you're feeling better."
Gloria—sweet, over-caffeinated, herbal tea-pushing Gloria—practically lunged at me with a fresh thermos of homemade throat potion. I side-stepped with the grace of someone who has had one too many chamomile-chili-pepper brews and said, "I'm good, but thanks."
Manny, already flipping through one of his dense, philosophical paperbacks, looked up with mild curiosity. "You sure you don't want to borrow The Plague by Camus?" he asked, holding up the ominous-looking cover. "It might give you a new perspective on your illness."
"Yeah… hard pass."
And just like that, I was out the door, headed back to school.
The second—literally, the second—I stepped into the school building, I felt it.
The shift.
The vibes.
The unmistakable energy that meant my absence had not gone unnoticed. Not in a "we missed you" way. More like… "you've become a myth while you were gone" kind of way.
People stared. Whispers followed me down the hallway like a breeze. I caught fragments—my name, something about "secret societies," and one girl flat-out stopped talking when I passed, like I was carrying radioactive gossip residue.
You'd think I'd walked in with a shaved head and a barcode tattooed across my neck, or maybe in a full ceremonial robe.
By the time lunch came around, I'd already had three separate students approach me. One asked, "Did you escape or get released?" Another leaned in with wide eyes and whispered, "Is it true? Did they choose you?" Like I'd been inducted into a Hogwarts house that didn't technically exist.
I was starting to feel like the plot twist in a teen Netflix drama.
So when I finally dropped my tray down at our usual lunch table with Alex, Terry, and Sam, I was ready for some kind of explanation—or at least a break from being treated like an urban legend.
Alex didn't even look up from her salad. "So," she said casually, as if we were discussing the weather. "How was the initiation ritual? Did they make you sacrifice a goat?"
I blinked. "What?"
Terry leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Dude, the rumors are out of control. One guy swears you were scouted by the rival school's football team. Like, secret tryouts and everything."
Sam nodded, brushing her hair behind her ear. "My favorite one? That you faked being sick to join a teen cult. A teen cult, Jon. That's the level of drama we've reached."
I stared at her. "What even is a teen cult? Do they have matching merch?"
Terry cackled. "Oh, and someone said you're actually an undercover agent investigating cafeteria food crimes. Like, FBI. Deep cover. That's why you 'disappeared.'"
I glanced around the cafeteria. A few students at nearby tables were definitely eavesdropping. One girl seemed to be checking her phone like she was waiting for my mugshot to drop.
"Are you all serious right now?" I asked.
Terry raised both hands. "Hey, I'm just reporting the chaos, not creating it."
Sam leaned in with faux concern. "So… you're not a cult leader?"
I paused for a beat, then leaned back in my chair with dramatic flair. "Not officially."
Laughter erupted across the table.
After the teasing died down and everyone started actually eating lunch, I turned to Alex.
"Hey," I said, lowering my voice a bit. "Any chance I could borrow your notes from the last two days? I'm already dreading chem, and I think calc wants revenge for skipping."
Without hesitation, she reached into her bag and handed over a neatly organized folder. "Color-coded by subject, with summaries at the top of each page," she said, barely glancing up from her salad.
"You're amazing."
She shrugged like it was no big deal. "You were dying. I figured the least I could do was keep your academic corpse from getting any colder."
Sam smiled at me. "Glad you're back, Jon. It was getting weird without you."
"Trust me," I said, glancing around the cafeteria, "I'm glad I'm back, too. Even if half the school thinks I've been brainwashed, recruited, or undercover."
I looked around at my friends—Alex scribbling in her planner, Terry laughing with a mouth full of fries, Sam reaching for my apple like it was hers by default—and realized something.
Yeah, this was weird. But it was our weird. And for all the curses, garlic foot treatments, and conspiracy theories about cults and cafeteria crimes… being back here, surrounded by this chaos?
This was as close to normal as it gets.