I could hear alarms blaring, overlapping with screaming and frantic shouting. The sharp patter of feet echoed off the walls—everyone scrambling to get away. Somewhere in the mix, someone was laughing.
That one was closer.
That's because Miro was kneeling on the damp cafeteria floor, soaked from head to toe, completely unfazed by the blast of water still pouring down from the triggered sprinklers. His shoulders were shaking—either with laughter or something else, I couldn't tell. He didn't seem to care that he was getting drenched.
Nyra was standing on top of the table where our food used to be, arms out for balance. Silas was next to her, one arm protectively bunches her hair up as he balanced with the other. Her long hair hung dangerously close to the damp floor.
And me?
I just stood there. In the middle of it all. Motionless.
Okay, I know. I always say every single disaster that led to my transfers was an accident—and I swear, most of them were.
But this one?
This one's not.
I step forward. Water soaks into my socks, squishing in my already scuffed black shoes—scuffed from all the walking I've done today. But I don't care. The sprinkler's downpour blurs the mess around me, like static on a screen, but I keep walking—right through it.
Right toward him.
The one who hasn't stopped laughing since this whole thing started.
The one who lit the fuse and watched the whole cafeteria burn in panic.
I reach down and grab him.
If Miro hadn't shoved me out of my chair, I wouldn't have ungracefully tripped over my own two left feet and crashed into a student. And just like clockwork—domino effect strikes again.
I watch, horrified, as the poor guy I bumped into flails, his plate flying from his hands like a UFO. Food arcs through the air in slow motion before crashing to the floor. Another student, not looking where they're going, steps right into it, slips, and crashes backward—right onto a table.
A bottle gets knocked loose, sails across the crowd, and hits someone squarely in the head—someone in a very long line in front of what seems to be the most popular food station, where they're apparently someone cooking.
That's when it happens.
Something spills onto the stove, and with a loud whoompf—fire.
Someone tries to stop it, but their panicked reaction sets off a chain of others.
Cue the sprinkler system. Instant rain around. Screams.
And there I was—soaking wet, dazed, and seriously wondering if it was too late to take back my application to this school.
And now the whole place feels like a water park gone wrong—screaming students, splashing footsteps, bodies colliding in panic as they scramble toward the stairwells. I spot President Percy near the stairs, doing his best to keep people from panicking. One wrong step, and someone's bound to fall.
All because someone shoved me.
Just one little push, and now I've got another fire and flood to add to my growing list of disasters. I can't even laugh about it. All I feel is cold, exhausted—and furious.
My hand tightens around the front of Miro's soaked uniform. "You—" I grit out between clenched teeth, and oh yeah, I feel that tremble in my jaw, that burn behind my eyes.
He just had to make a joke. Had to push. And now here we are, again.
"You don't joke around a dog who hasn't slept in over twenty-four hours," I growl, my voice low and shaking. "Not when it bites."
But Miro grabs my arm with both hands—firm, not to stop me, but like he's anchoring himself to something. His eyes are wide, practically gleaming, and he looks at me like I've just turned into fireworks in front of him.
"You are the best, really!" he says, grinning ear to ear, soaked and shivering but beaming with the kind of delight only a lunatic—or a child seeing their favorite show unfold—could manage.
"This is not funny!" I snap, louder than I intend, my voice cracking with the weight of everything. My hands are trembling—soaked, freezing, angry. My chest feels too tight, my breath shallow. I know this is irrational. I know he's not the real reason I want to scream. But he's here. He's laughing. And I need to aim this rage somewhere.
My fingers curl into a fist, but all that does is make them shake more.
"I'm—" I choke on the words. "I'm just—it's not fine, okay?!"
The water keeps falling. People keep shouting. But Miro? Miro doesn't stop smiling.
Not a mocking grin. Not teasing.
Just... warm. Like he's proud.
Somehow, mercifully, the sprinklers stop. The constant hiss dies, replaced by the collective groans of soaked students and squelching shoes. But the damage is already done—tables flipped, food ruined, the dining hall is half-flooded and reeking of smoke and soaked spices.
"Reina?"
My name—spoken softly, not scoldingly. I flinch anyway. I look up, hair plastered to my face, water dripping from my face. Nyra stands a few feet away, her uniform clinging to her in uncomfortable places, and Silas beside her, pushing back his wet cap. Both are damp, both look shock.
But not mad.
And yet—I can't look them in the eye.
Because I've been here before.
Back in the last school, and the one before that. It starts like this—people being kind. Being curious. Giving me a shot. Then something happens—some freak accident, some domino mess I didn't mean to cause but somehow always do—and suddenly it's awkward glances, whispered jokes, or worse. Silence. Cold shoulders. Like I'm cursed. Bad luck. A literal walking disaster.
So I brace for it.
I keep my head low, voice tight. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... I was just trying to—"
"That was so freaking cool!"
My breath hitches. The tightness in my chest doesn't vanish, but it loosens—just a little. Enough to make me blink in confusion as Nyra throws herself at me in a sideways hug, her soaked uniform cold against mine, her grin radiant like the sprinklers never happened. I glance up at Silas, who looks like a half-drowned cat but still gently holds Nyra's long, drenched hair up with a quiet sigh, his expression… amused?
"You are like the best prankster of all time," she cackles, and for a second, I just stare at her, dumbfounded.
Prankster. Not problem. Not disaster. Not curse.
My fingers—still gripping the collar of Miro's now even more wrinkled uniform—slowly ease up. The trembling in my hand calms, my arm drops to my side, and I take a shaky breath.
I didn't get blamed.
Not immediately, not harshly, not with that usual tone of oh great, it's her again.
I look at Nyra again, still hanging on me like this is just a normal Monday morning to her. Then at Silas, who gives me a tiny shrug, like 'can't be help'.
And something in me... loosen.
***
I should have expected it. Of course I should've. But still—hearing it out loud makes my stomach sink all the same.
Matilda's stare could peel skin, even without a single drop of water on her pristine uniform. Meanwhile, I'm dripping like a drowned rat, my hair sticking to my face, shoes squelching on the cafeteria floor that looks more like a shallow pond now. Miro, standing beside me, just shrugs like this is just another day for him.
"Can't help it?" he says, trying to sound innocent. It's almost impressive how he doesn't even try to get up.
"Not you too," Matilda mutters under her breath, exasperated, as if Miro just joined a long list of people who've disappointed her. Then she looks at me again—her gaze sharp enough that I feel it cut through my attempt to look vaguely apologetic.
"At least I got an idea for detention now," she sighs, deadpan. "And that includes you and Miro now."
Miro shoots me a grin like we just got invited to a party. I stare back at him, unamused, dripping, and utterly resigned.
"I really shouldn't have left you with him," she mutters again.
"Hey! At least no one died! That's gotta count for something, right?!"
Matilda doesn't answer. I just drop my face into my palms.
Of course this would be how my first real meal at this school ends.
With drenched socks, a cafeteria-turned-splash-zone, and Matilda giving me that look teachers save for kids who've really pushed their patience—but who they still begrudgingly like enough not to totally give up on.
I don't say anything. I just nod like I've already accepted my fate, because yeah, I have.
Miro, though—Miro just chuckles and shrugs like detention is some kind of reward. "Sweet, I've been bored all week anyway."
Matilda's brow twitches. "You were in detention last week."
"And I was still bored."
She sighs harder this time, pinching the bridge of her nose like she regrets every decision she made—including talking to him. Then her eyes slide back to me, not cruelly, but sharp. Measuring. "You'll report to Dawn Council after you clean up."
Honestly? I kind of prefer this. No babying. No cold stares. Just a straight up sentence. Fair.
But when will I get my well deserved sleep?
"Yes, ma'am."
Miro raises a hand like he's in class. "Can I bring snacks?"
"No."
He pouts.
Matilda turns and starts walking off—then calls over her shoulder, "Don't make me come find you. I will drag you by the collar."
I glance sideways at Miro. He's grinning again.
"Welcome to the club," he says. "You're officially one of us now."