Lunchtime. The cafeteria was a zoo, but Brittany had cornered Chelsea in the hallway outside the library before she could even smell the pizza.
She shoved a sheaf of papers into Chelsea's chest.
"Here," she said. "The prompt is 'Overcoming Adversity.' I need it to sound deep, but not pathetic. You know?"
"Adversity?" Chelsea asked, raising an eyebrow. "Brittany, the hardest thing you've ever had to do was choose between the Range Rover and the Porsche for your sixteenth birthday."
Brittany glared at her. "That was actually really stressful, Chelsea. Just write it. Please? For me?"
She batted her eyelashes. The manipulation was so clumsy, so obvious. How had Chelsea never seen it before?
"Fine," Chelsea said, taking the papers. Her mind was already dissecting the prompt. She could write a Pulitzer-worthy essay in her sleep. And maybe she would. Or maybe she'd write one that was subtly, destructively terrible.
"You're the best!" Brittany blew her a kiss and strutted off toward the cafeteria.
Chelsea sighed and turned toward the auditorium. She needed quiet.
The auditorium was dim and cool. The smell of dust and floor wax hung in the air. A few students from the stage crew were up on the catwalks, adjusting lights for the upcoming fall play.
She sat in a seat about halfway down the center aisle, spreading the papers out.
Down near the stage, a boy was walking. Rory Lane. He was carrying a stack of textbooks that reached his chin. He was the quintessential nerd-thick glasses, suspenders, the whole package. Chelsea remembered him. He became a tech billionaire in her timeline, inventing some revolutionary AI chip. Right now, he was just the kid everyone tripped in the hallway.
Creak. Scccrrrape.
A sound from above. The grating noise of metal on metal. It was a sound she knew intimately from years on film sets. It was the sound of failing rigging.
She looked up. High above the stage, a heavy spotlight was swinging loose. A safety cable wasn't just snapped-it was slowly, audibly unraveling.
"Watch out!" someone yelled from the catwalk.
Rory looked up, freezing like a deer in headlights. He stumbled back, tripping over his own feet, and fell flat on his back. The books scattered.
The last thread of the cable gave way with a loud snap. The light fixture detached completely. It plummeted, a fifty-pound metal missile aiming straight for Rory's chest.
The scream caught in everyone's throat.
Chelsea didn't think.
The world slowed down. It was the adrenaline state-the "Zone" she had learned to access during her stunt training. She calculated the trajectory, the angle of descent, her required velocity.
She launched herself from the seat.
She was a blur, a streak of navy blue and plaid moving down the aisle. She vaulted over the orchestra pit railing, landing in a crouch on the polished wood of the stage.
Rory was just lying there, eyes wide behind his glasses, watching death fall toward him.
Chelsea dove.
It was a textbook Krav Maga evasion tackle. She hit Rory low, wrapping her arms around his waist. Momentum carried them both sideways. They rolled-one, two rotations-across the stage floor.
CRASH.
The spotlight smashed into the floorboards exactly where Rory's head had been a second ago. Glass shattered, spraying everywhere. Metal twisted. The impact shook the floor.
Dust billowed up in a cloud.
Silence. Absolute silence.
Chelsea lay on top of Rory, breathing hard. Her heart was steady, though. Controlled.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
Rory stared up at her. His glasses were askew. He looked like he was looking at an alien. Or an angel.
"I... I think so," he squeaked.
Chelsea pushed herself up, brushing glass shards off her blazer. She checked him quickly-pupils equal, no bleeding. "You're fine. Just shock."
The students on the catwalk were shouting now, scrambling down ladders. The doors to the auditorium burst open as a teacher ran in.
Chelsea realized her mistake.
She had just executed a maneuver that belonged on a movie set, not in a high school auditorium. The "clumsy, invisible Chelsea" mask was shattered.
She quickly slumped her shoulders. She put a hand to her chest and forced her breathing to become erratic. She widened her eyes, feigning panic.
"Oh my god," she gasped, helping Rory up. "I just... I saw it falling and I just ran. I was so scared!"
Rory adjusted his glasses. He looked at the smashed light, then at Chelsea. There was a calculation in his eyes that belonged to a future genius.
"You moved really fast," he whispered. "The distance... it was impossible."
"Adrenaline," Chelsea said loudly, for the benefit of the approaching teacher. "My mom says I have a fight-or-flight reflex like a rabbit."
She gave him a shaky smile. "I'm just glad you're okay, Rory."
He nodded slowly, blushing a furious red. "Thanks, Chelsea. You... you saved my life."
"Don't mention it," she said. "Literally. Please don't make a big deal out of it."
She turned to leave before the interrogation began.
As she walked up the aisle, she felt a prickle on the back of her neck. The sensation of being watched.
She glanced up toward the balcony level, where the shadows were deepest.
A figure stood there. Tall. Broad shoulders.
He was just a silhouette, but she saw the glint of eyes watching her. Studying her.
Chelsea shivered, but not from cold. She hurried out of the auditorium, clutching her bag.
