Monday, June 18

  YMPA

  Mission: N/A

  15:50

  I knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” Principal Renner called.

  I stepped inside with less caution than usual. If she was calling me in, it probably wasn’t for an interrogation—because I hadn’t done anything wrong.

  Right?

  I sat down. She didn’t look up right away—just kept flipping through a stack of papers with the same calm menace she always had.

  Then she said, “A little late to class, don’t you think?”

  I froze for half a second, trying to assemble a response that didn’t sound like I was making excuses for breathing.

  She stopped flipping papers and finally looked up. It was a long stare. The kind that made the room feel smaller.

  “Is there a reason you’re not in class?”

  “Is this why you called me?” I blurted.

  Instant regret.

  Her stare sharpened into something darker.

  “No,” she said flatly. “It isn’t. Otherwise I wouldn’t have told September to bring you here.”

  “Why did you ask her to?”

  “Because I didn’t feel like informing the entire school that I needed you,” she replied. “I could have called Mr. Robbs and told him to send you to my office—which he would have done, if you were actually in his class.” She paused, lips tightening. “So, yes. He likely sent September to find you.”

  I blinked. “He must’ve seen how close we are.”

  Renner’s expression didn’t change. “He must have.”

  “He knows?” I asked, my voice lower.

  “You’d have to ask him.”

  I swallowed. “I thought you told September—or at least Mr. Robbs—to tell me to come here because Connor D. is a little too obvious.”

  Renner froze.

  “…That too,” she admitted, like it annoyed her that it was a good point. “Nonetheless—here.” She slid a thin screen across the desk. “This is the map for camp. Specifically, the location for your class.”

  I pressed the power button.

  A hologram blossomed above the screen.

  Oh… interesting.

  The camp looked massive—hidden beneath towering trees that seemed to swallow the sky. Cabins. Tents. Fire pits. A wide field with goalposts for both kinds of football. And then an odd dip in elevation—almost like steps leading down to a longhouse that stretched farther than it should’ve.

  “See that longhouse?” Principal Renner asked.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “That’s where APCC will commence once you arrive,” she said. “Classes are early. 6:00 AM to 8:00 AM. Basically when breakfast starts. Every day. Until camp ends.” She pointed at the hologram. “Zoom in.”

  “Zoom in…” I muttered, pinching the display larger.

  A prompt appeared for interior access. I tapped it.

  The longhouse wasn’t just a longhouse.

  Rooms unfolded: a combat space, a classroom setup, and a lounge that opened to the outside like this place was designed for training and recovery.

  “That’s… cool,” I chuckled.

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  “This facility—and the APCC itself—was engineered so you can practice and apply your Perks in multiple environments,” Renner said. “Controlled. Measurable. Effective.”

  I nodded, letting it sink in.

  Then she leaned back, businesslike again. “Alright. Get to class.” Her eyes narrowed. “This map will be sent to your YMPA email. You should have no excuse for being late again.”

  Her gaze felt like it was trying to stab a hole through my forehead.

  “What about Jamal, Elf, and Maddie—” I started.

  “Who’s Elf?” she interrupted.

  I let out a short, incredulous laugh. “David… Elfron.” I shrugged. “But what about them? They’re not in class now—or ever?”

  Renner’s expression went flat. “You need to worry about yourself. Get to class.”

  I stood. No point arguing. Not with her.

  I left the office and made my way back toward Mr. Robbs’s class—with forty minutes to spare, which felt like a miracle.

  17:05

  Recreation hit.

  Two more classes after this, and I could finally see my bed again. I wanted to tell Greg to come over tonight, but then I figured… we should just go to the diner five minutes from my house.

  It’s summer break. That shouldn’t be a crime.

  As long as I told Mom.

  I texted her quickly, then headed to the bench where Tisiah and Nikki were waiting. The courtyard was loud the way it always is—people chatting, a few guys tossing footballs, everyone pretending they weren’t addicted to their screens.

  Most people—including me—didn’t look up long enough to actually touch grass.

  Tisiah sat with an ice pack pressed to his head, wincing every few seconds like his skull was remembering the impact frame-by-frame.

  Nikki sat beside him, wearing a long beige sweater over her uniform… in summer heat. Because of course she was.

  “Did you tell her about the—” I started.

  “No,” Tisiah said immediately.

  Nikki’s head snapped toward me. “About what?”

  I hesitated, then went for it. “Me and Greg looked over the roster—”

  “Oh, you mean that story,” Tisiah cut in quickly, like he could smother the topic with his tone.

  I nodded. He chuckled—and then winced again.

  Nikki leaned forward. “Wait—you saw what Perks they had?”

  I shook my head. “No. They didn’t list that.” I exhaled. “But we did see who’s in the class. I don’t recognize anyone, but there was this one girl… Tess, right?”

  “Yeah,” Tisiah said, glancing at Nikki.

  Nikki looked unimpressed. “So… what’s so great about her?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “I don’t know her yet.” I paused. “But today one of our Mageball teammates asked us—and a bunch of others—to help him get her.”

  Nikki’s shoulders loosened like someone untied a knot in her chest.

  “Greg doesn’t know that part,” I added, “and I’m not sure he’d be thrilled.”

  “Why not?” Nikki asked. “It doesn’t change anything.”

  “That’s what I said,” Tisiah agreed quickly.

  “No,” I said. “It could change things. We don’t want enemies with other people who have Perks—because we don’t even know what they can do. Greg’s whole plan was keep quiet. Don’t talk. Don’t offend anyone. This kind of contradicts that.”

  Nikki waved a hand. “Even if it does, they can’t just kill you. If Jamal can’t, what makes you think they can? You think they’re gonna risk civil war between EMO organizations because their kid couldn’t stand the sight of you?”

  “Doesn’t mean they won’t try something,” I muttered.

  “They won’t, Connor,” Nikki said, firm. “They won’t.”

  I shrugged. “After that, Jamal and his goons came in—”

  “Hey—Connor!” Tisiah snapped, panicked.

  Too late.

  Nikki turned like a shark smelling blood. “That’s why you have the ice pack?” Her eyes narrowed. “Where’s Jamal?”

  “Nikki—no,” Tisiah pleaded. “It’s fine. It was an accident.”

  Nikki stared at him for a long, nerve-racking moment.

  Then she nodded once. “I’ll deal with him tomorrow.”

  Tisiah looked like he was about to faint.

  20:57

  You know the great thing about the diner five minutes from my house?

  It’s literally named DINER. No brand. No theme. No creativity. Just DINER.

  I walked inside and the place looked suspiciously clean—red-and-white booths, shiny tiled floors, freshly painted walls. I took the booth by the window, because the suburban streetlights outside always made everything feel calmer than it should.

  There were about three employees in the back. One of them wandered out every now and then and said something more diabolical each time he passed, like he was leveling up in menace.

  But where was Greg?

  He’s usually home before me—and somehow still has time to head to my house after. I still wonder what his cover story is for going to the FMA. Probably something more believable than chess club.

  The bell above the door rang.

  Greg walked in with his backpack slung over one shoulder and slid into the booth across from me like this was scheduled.

  “I was finishing an assignment,” he said.

  “You could’ve done that at home.”

  “No,” Greg scoffed. “I’ll never allow myself self-inflicted homework.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I asked Mr. Drails to send me straight here.”

  “I wonder how he even knows where everyone lives,” I said.

  Greg shook his head. “He doesn’t. He uses his Perk with a system that works like a mass teleporter.”

  “Is that why I always land horribly at school?” I asked.

  “Maybe he personally teleports you,” Greg said, dead serious. “I don’t get teleported to YMPA anyway. We use what’s called a spawn bubble.”

  “A what?”

  “It’s like this cylinder box,” Greg explained. “You step inside, hit some buttons, and the world spins like you’re in a washing machine… then you arrive.”

  “How is that a spawn bubble?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe from the outside it looks like I evaporated into space and time itself.” He leaned back. “I barely know more than you do.”

  I sighed.

  Then a couple people walked into the diner—less coordinated than the average person should be. A waiter drifted around them, spotted us, and laughed.

  “Here again?” he asked.

  I looked at Greg. I had no idea who this guy was.

  Greg nodded like they were best friends. “Yeah, you know how it is. Just get me the usual—and him too. He’ll like it.”

  The waiter grinned and walked off.

  I stared at Greg. “The usual?”

  Greg ignored my expression and leaned forward. “Anyways. You got anything?”

  I took a deep breath and nodded.

  “Alright,” he said. “Hit me.”