***

~Amelia~

***

I freeze in the middle of the lab, Ms. Lanford’s voice still echoing over the intercom.

“Amelia Monroe, please report to the principal’s office. Immediately.”

What the hell? Why am I being called to the principal’s office? What did I do? Did I…?

Questions buzz in my head, but none come with answers.

Still, something curls heavy in my gut… like it already knows.

Mira doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t have to. Her silence is smug enough.

I can feel Nathaniel watching me, waiting for me to ask if he knows anything... if he did something. But I’m not giving him the satisfaction.

Or the power.

I throw my bag over my shoulder and walk out without a word.

The hallway feels longer than usual. Each step echoes like a countdown. I try not to let my mind spiral, but I’m already doing inventory.

I didn’t cheat. I didn’t break anything. I haven’t missed a deadline. I haven’t even talked back to a teacher in, like, a year.

So what is this?

When I reach the front office, the receptionist gives me a look—half sympathy, half curiosity. She gestures toward the glass door.

“The principal will see you now.”

Because that’s not ominous at all.

Principal Roswell is already seated behind his desk when I walk in. Next to him sits Ms. Lanford, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

There’s a folder open on the desk.

I recognize the red tab.

Science Fair Committee.

Great.

“Amelia,” Principal Roswell says, motioning for me to sit.

I drop into the chair across from him, trying not to look like I’m about to pass out.

Ms. Lanford speaks first. “You submitted your project outline to the science fair portal last night at 9:48 PM?”

I blink. “Yes. I uploaded it right after I finished the blueprints with my partner. Is there a problem?”

She slides the folder toward me.

“Can you explain this?”

Inside is a printout of my submission. I recognize every word, every diagram.

Except... at the bottom of the page is a footer.

One I didn’t add.

Submitted previously under: Mira Carrow, Keyway Transfer File

My breath catches. “That’s not… That’s not real. That wasn’t there when I uploaded it.”

Roswell folds his hands. “We’ve already reached out to Ms. Carrow for clarification. She says the material in your blueprint matches a preliminary project proposal she submitted during her transfer process, dated four weeks ago.”

“That’s impossible,” I say. My voice cracks. “She didn’t even start until two weeks ago.”

Lanford narrows her eyes. “Ms. Carrow has documentation. A digital record. We’re still reviewing it.”

My mouth is dry. My thoughts scatter.

This isn’t happening.

“She’s lying,” I say finally. “She must’ve accessed my work. I don’t know how, but she stole my design. I started that project last week, with Noah Lin. He can vouch for me.”

Roswell exhales, slow and disappointed. “Amelia, I want to believe you. But this is serious. Academic dishonesty in the science fair would disqualify you from the event and could impact your transcript.”

My world tilts.

“I’m not lying.”

Lanford leans forward. “Do you have version history? Backups? Proof that this design was yours first?”

I open my mouth—then stop.

Noah uploaded the schematics from his account. I drafted mine on paper before transferring it to our drive. And the original sketches are still in my bag.

My bag.

My eyes widened. “Wait… I can show you.”

I reach down to unzip my bag. But the folder is gone.

The sketches. The drafts. The hand-labeled designs.

Gone.

Like someone took them.

I stare at the empty space inside my backpack, blood roaring in my ears.

“They were in here,” I say, too fast. “I swear… this morning, in the lab… I had everything.”

Lanford’s face is stone.

Roswell stands.

“We’re placing your project on hold until this is sorted. I suggest you begin preparing a new concept, just in case.”

Just in case?

I stand, panic laced into every breath.

“You’re just going to take her word for it?”

“No one’s making a final call yet,” Lanford says. “But if we don’t find proof that this is yours, we’ll have to go with the documented timeline.”

My chest tightens.

I want to scream.

Instead, I walk out of the office in stunned silence, the door clicking shut behind me.

In the hallway, I grab my phone and speed-text Noah.

AMY: Do you still have the schematics file?

AMY: From your drive? We need the timestamp.

NOAH: Yeah. Why?

AMY: I’m being accused of copying Mira’s project.

NOAH: …WHAT?

NOAH: Meet me in the lab. NOW.

Ten minutes later, I’m pacing in the back corner of the science lab, heart pounding, while Noah taps furiously at his laptop.

“Okay, okay, okay… here it is,” he mutters. “Submission time: 9:48 PM. Last edit: 9:32 PM. You were literally standing right next to me.”

I breathe a little easier.

“Send me screenshots. And download backups.”

He nods, already working on it.

My phone buzzes again.

Unknown number.

I stare at it. Then I answer.

A single word crackles through the speaker. A whisper.

“Stop.”

The line goes dead.

I freeze.

Noah looks up. “You good?”

I nod slowly. But I’m not.

Because someone’s playing a long game.

And I’m done being the pawn.