You'd think after Operation Glitter Doom and the "Bianca Ballet Breakdown" incident, my reign of beautifully executed chaos would slow down.
You'd be wrong.
By the time the school week hit Wednesday, St. Agatha's was split into two groups: those who feared me and those who followed me like I was Moses parting the Red Sea of Boring Uniforms. Then there was Sister Joan, the Pharaoh of this metaphor, clinging to her last thread of sanity and holy water.
Unfortunately for her, I wasn't done yet.
It all started when I spotted Bianca and her Gaggle laughing near the chapel. Which was odd, because Bianca only went near anything holy if she needed a dramatic photo for Instagram or wanted to tattle about someone's skirt length. I slowed my pace, hiding behind a pillar and eavesdropping like the professional nosy brat I was.
"She's getting too cocky," Bianca hissed. "If Sister Joan won't do anything, maybe we need to teach her a lesson ourselves."
Oh?
Bianca's glitter still hadn't fully washed out of her hair, so I guess I'd triggered her trauma center harder than I thought.
"You want to prank Aria?" one of the Gaggle asked, clearly not ready to enter the Hunger Games with me.
"She's just one girl."
Correction: one girl with the brain of a villainess and the time to commit. I smiled to myself and pulled out my sketchbook, flipping to my list titled 'In Case of Emergency: Make It Rain Chaos.'
Time to test #17: Holographic Haunting.
---
The trick was simple in theory, but deliciously complex in execution. I'd rigged the chapel projector system ages ago when I was bored during detention duty. Add a tiny voice distortion speaker, a few well-placed lights, and a looped video I created using our Media Lab equipment (thank you, bored IT Club president), and voilà.
I summoned the ghost of Saint Agatha.
That night during chapel prayers, the lights flickered—intentionally, thanks to a conveniently timed voltage drop I'd planned with a hacked smart switch—and then a glowing figure appeared near the altar, shimmering with blue light and slowly rising from the floor.
"Repent… or repeat the semester… forever," it groaned.
Bianca screamed so loud you'd think she'd seen her GPA. One of her Gaggle fainted into the offertory basket. Sister Joan stood frozen mid-cross-signing, her mouth moving like a dying goldfish.
I cut the lights just in time and made my exit through the side doors, slipping my hood on for added drama. Phoenix—yes, that Phoenix—was waiting outside with a bag of popcorn and a look that said I can't believe I'm friends with this gremlin and I love it.
"That was insane," he whispered, grinning like he hadn't just helped me rig the chapel.
"You're welcome," I said, tossing him the bag. "Let no one say I don't give back to the community."
---
The fallout was glorious.
Sister Joan spent the next day smudging the hallways with incense and holy water like she was preparing for an exorcism. I heard they even brought in Father Damian from the seminary to "cleanse the spiritual unrest." Bless his heart, he nearly slipped on a feather left over from the glitter bomb and muttered something about this school being cursed.
Bianca? She didn't speak for a full twenty-four hours, which was possibly the longest silence of her life. I almost missed her voice.
Almost.
Jade, however, wasn't laughing.
"She's planning something, you know," Jade said, watching Bianca from across the lunchroom like a general surveilling the enemy. "That silence isn't surrender. It's strategy."
I sipped my juice box. "Good. I was getting bored."
Phoenix snorted. "You're a menace."
"You say that like it's new information."
---
Now, as much as I love chaos, I'm not entirely heartless. After lunch, I headed to the art room to check on my newest project. And by project, I meant the mural I'd been sneakily painting on the back wall during off-hours. The thing was massive—six feet of color and madness, a phoenix rising out of a burning school. A metaphor? Maybe.
Maybe not.
"Looks like a war zone," Phoenix said from behind me.
I turned to find him holding two iced teas and a pack of cookies, his shirt splattered with a hint of red paint. He'd started helping me paint a week ago—something about "creative therapy" and "avoiding your wrath." I think he just liked the mess.
"It's art," I said.
"It's therapy in disguise," he replied, handing me a drink.
I rolled my eyes, but took it anyway. "You know, if people saw this side of you, they'd stop thinking you're the brooding bad boy."
He shrugged. "And if they saw this side of you, they'd stop thinking you're unhinged."
"Rude."
"Accurate."
We painted in silence for a while, side by side, the sound of bristles on concrete the only noise between us. It was weirdly... peaceful. Until he spoke again.
"You ever think about what you'd do after this place?"
I blinked. "You mean after I'm finally expelled for defacing school property and summoning saints?"
He chuckled. "Yeah. Like, outside of the chaos."
I hesitated. I hadn't thought that far ahead. Aria Wren didn't do futures. She did right nows, and revenge plots, and glitter explosions. But for a second, with Phoenix beside me and the mural glowing in the afternoon light, I let myself wonder.
"Maybe art school," I said quietly. "Or animation. Or... world domination. Still deciding."
He smiled. "You'd be good at both."
I glanced at him. "You're dangerously supportive, you know."
"Someone's gotta be."
And just like that, I felt something in my chest shift. Not in a romantic soundtrack kind of way, but like someone had cracked open a window I didn't know was shut. It was disarming. I didn't like it.
So I threw paint at him.
He yelped. "Aria!"
I laughed. "Oops. Reflex."
He retaliated, and the next ten minutes devolved into a full-blown paint war that ended with both of us covered in streaks and collapsing on the floor, breathless and grinning.
---
Later that night, I updated my Chaos Journal™.
> Day 92:
Successfully haunted the chapel.
Paint war with Phoenix—still undefeated.
May have felt something resembling a real emotion. Will monitor. Might need therapy. Or sugar.
---
But I wasn't done.
Not even close.
Because Bianca had been quiet too long. And if I knew anything about Queen Gaggle, it was that she never stayed down unless she was planning something nuclear.
So, I pulled out the master list again.
This time, I hovered over #23: Project Bubblewrap Apocalypse.
If she thought she could out-chaos me, she clearly hadn't met the full extent of Aria Wren, Saint of Sarcasm, Destroyer of Egos, and now—Mural Artist Extraordinaire.