It was a Tuesday; the most boring day of the week, defined by the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant squeak of sneakers on floors. It was the kind of day where the biggest worry was a math test or a missed practice.
Right up until the moment the school nurse stumbled into the hallway.
She didn't ask for help. She didn't say a word. She simply opened her mouth and let out a scream so thin and high-pitched it felt like a razor blade against the air. It was a sound that didn't belong in a hallway filled with lockers and laughter. It was a sound that vibrated through the floorboards and into Leo's teeth, crescendoing until the thick, reinforced glass of the championship trophy case didn't just crack; it obliterated.
As the gold-plated dreams of Westview High rained down in a thousand jagged shards, the final bell rang. But it wasn't signaling the end of the day.
It was signaling the end of the world.