***

~Amelia~

***

My eyes stay locked on the screen, even after the group chat goes silent.

There it is. My old binder. Our binder.

Crushed at the bottom of a gray trash can like it never meant anything. The plastic cover curled. My handwriting… familiar, messy, mine… split in two. And that sentence across the top in thick, angry red: You’ve been replaced.

I grip my phone tighter, like maybe I can crush the screen the way they crushed that notebook. My fingers tingle, half from rage and half from pure disbelief.

I scroll through the chat. No caption. No name. Just a photo. The silence feels like a scream.

How did someone get the binder? I kept it in my room last year. The last time it left the house was during finals. I start mentally retracing my steps. Did I leave it in my locker once? Bring it to Nate’s? Did I ever…

Nate.

My stomach twists.

I reach for my bag and dig through it like a detective in a B-movie, yanking out folders, papers, highlighters. But the binder isn’t there. Of course it isn’t.

I lean back against my headboard, breathing hard.

Okay. Okay. Maybe it’s not mine.

But I know it is.

There’s a small tear on the back page corner, from the time I dropped it in the hallway freshman year. I saw it in the picture.

Whoever posted that… had access to it.

But the only two people who ever touched that binder were me… and Nathaniel.

Unless...

My phone buzzes again. This time it’s a school notification.

Subject: Partner Assignment Update

To: Monroe Amelia

Lab Partner Confirmed: Noah Lin

Noah Lin.

The name flashes in my brain like a fire alarm going off in a library. Loud, annoying, and very unwelcome.

I’ve barely spoken to the guy. All I know is that he wears sunglasses indoors, got suspended for arguing with a sub last semester, and once built a drone that dive-bombed the principal’s toupee. Which, I have to admit, was kind of impressive.

Still. This is my replacement? From Nathaniel to… Noah Lin?

I want to scream. Or throw something. Or text Ms. Lanford and demand she pull names from a different dimension.

But instead, I force myself to breathe. Just one. Just enough to stop my hands from shaking.

Fine. Noah it is.

The next morning at school, I found him exactly where I expected to: sitting backward in a chair in the science wing, black hoodie pulled over his head, earbuds in, bouncing a rubber band ball off the floor like it owes him money.

He looks up when I approach, one brow raised.

“Monroe,” he says, nodding like we’re old friends. “Heard we’re bound for science fair glory.”

I cross my arms. “Let’s set one thing straight: I’m only working with you because I was sabotaged, manipulated, and emotionally sucker-punched.”

“Wow.” He tosses the rubber band ball into the air and catches it without blinking. “You’re like… the poster child for fun.”

“I don’t need fun. I need results.”

“Relax, queen of lab coats. I build stuff that doesn’t explode… on purpose.”

I don’t smile. Not yet.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You think she did it?”

I pause. “What?”

“No offense,” he says, gesturing at me with the ball, “but that whole binder-trash-pic situation? Screams sabotage. Screams Mira Carrow.”

I blink at him.

“How do you know about that?”

He pulls one earbud out. “I see stuff. Also? The group chat isn’t exactly secret, Monroe.”

He’s got a point.

“Anyway,” he says, standing up and stretching like he just woke up from a three-year nap, “we doing this or what? Got any ideas?”

I hesitate. The old me would’ve had a shared doc, a mood board, and a color-coded task list by now.

But that old me had a partner who knew every chaotic step of my process.

Now?

I square my shoulders. “I have some ideas.”

“Cool,” Noah says, nodding. “I have some tech junk and a 3D printer. Let’s see which one wins.”

We spend the rest of the period in the side lab, arguing over materials. Noah has the attention span of a fly on Red Bull, but he’s not dumb. In fact, his ideas are actually kind of brilliant, once you dig them out from under all the sarcasm and weird analogies.

Still, I’m watching the clock. Waiting.

Because Mira’s next lab period starts right after ours.

And I’m not leaving without seeing her.

Right on cue, the lab door creaks open just as I’m packing up.

She walks in like she owns the air. Perfect posture, tight braids, polished blazer over her uniform like she’s going to a STEM TED Talk and not tenth-grade chemistry.

She doesn’t look at me. Not even a glance.

But she knows I’m watching.

She drops her bag on the back table and starts pulling out equipment… wires, sensors, a black flash drive she tucks into the laptop.

Private lab time.

She got access. After hours. Alone.

Why?

I grab my bag, walking slowly toward the exit. But something on her desk stops me.

A notebook.

Familiar spiral binding. Red cover.

Mine?

No. Not the binder.

But as I pass, she shifts it just enough for me to catch the name written in the corner of the front page in neat cursive.

Amelia Claire Monroe

My breath catches.

She doesn’t look at me. But she knows I saw it.

She smiles.

It’s small. Subtle. Like a chess player, three moves from checkmate.

I step outside, heart thudding. What the hell is going on?

Back in the hallway, I lean against the lockers, trying to steady my thoughts.

There’s no way she just accidentally has my notes.

There’s no way Nathaniel didn’t know.

Unless…

Unless he’s in on it.

I shake the thought away. Nathaniel would never…

Would he?

My phone buzzes in my hand.

New Message — Unknown Number:

“Careful what you accuse people of. The truth isn’t always on your side.”