The hallway was a stream of voices, rubber soles, and clattering locker doors. Neon light cast a cold sheen on everything, as if someone had wrapped the school in plastic film. Every step echoed too loudly, every laugh sounded a bit too shrill. I swam along with it, the paper bag with the snapshots pressed tightly against me, as if I could make them so silent they'd cease to exist.
Fiona linked arms with me. "Breathe," she said, without looking over. Her voice was the opposite of neon: warm, matte, alive.
"I'm breathing," I answered, though it felt more like swallowing.
Jonas appeared before us, walking backward because of course he had to walk backward, holding the apple in his hand like a red planet. "Spectacle in A-Block: Vanessa's handing out oracles. Entry free, brain costs extra."
Mira caught up with us, camera dangling from her hand as if it were part of her. "When she starts, give me a heads-up. I want the light just right when she self-destructs."
