Griffin Stanton was already fifteen minutes late to baseball practice when he heard the giggling. It came from behind the vending machines near the old gym, where the air always smelled like rubber and spilled Gatorade.

Freshmen — three of them, hunched over a phone, whispering with that kind of breathless urgency that usually meant someone was about to get pantsed, pied, or punched. Normally, he wouldn't stop. Not today, when Coach was already pissed from last week's rain delay and they had regionals coming up.

But then he caught some words that turned his stomach inside out: "... Mr. Harlow... trip... prank"

Griff froze mid-stride.

Mr. Harlow. He was the math teacher who'd openly declared war on the senior trip to Greece. Who had announced, with glee, that he'd scheduled a unit test for the exact week students were meant to be in Athens. Said it was "unfortunate" but "not his problem."

Who, a week ago, tried to give the entire class a failing grade to tank the eligibility list. Including Griffin, who'd damn near broken his neck trying to turn in the test before school ended so that he could clock in for a shift at the theater on time that same evening.

Griff clenched his jaw and doubled back. "Hey," he said, approaching the group. "What's going on?"

They startled like deer, all wide eyes and fake smiles. One of the girls muttered something about a TikTok prank they "saw online." Griff didn't buy it.

And then that boy, twitchy and too honest, cracked under the pressure. "It's, uh, it's him. He said he's gonna pull something to get back at Harlow after school. Something about an answer key and whipped cream. He said it's justice or something."

Griff didn't even wait for the rest. He knew where it was going as soon as he heard the name. He pivoted on his heel and broke into a jog, baseball cleats tied along the straps of his backpack.

Because of course it was him. Of course it was him.

The same boy who kept a permanent detention record and a crooked smile. Who once filled the principal's office with balloons just because "it looked too empty." Who flirted like it was a contact sport — in the middle of class, in the halls, in detention. Who acted like his sole reason for existing was to stress Griffin out until his hair turned grey before graduation.

And now, apparently, was planning to commit academic terrorism in broad daylight. God.

Griff cut across the courtyard, ignoring the way the spring sun turned everything golden and soft. He tried not to think about his excuse. About the upcoming trip. About the fact that, for once, Griff had a seat on the plane.

He'd been ready to turn it down, too — to make up an excuse about his parents needing him. Griff hadn't even entered the raffle that gave away a free ticket to Athens with the class. But then they called his name during the pep rally, said someone must've added his name in with the others. Said someone must've nominated him for it. Said it must've been "luck".

Griff didn't believe in luck. But he had started letting himself believe in Athens. Just a little.

He spotted him at the far end of the hallway, already slipping inside Harlow's classroom door.

Griff slowed to a walk, out of breath and burning. The rational part of his brain screamed stop him. If this went south, it could mean real consequences. Suspension. A canceled trip. Possibly expulsion if he had gone nuclear with it.

But the other part — the tired, bitter part — whispered something different.

What if he didn't? What if he just got away with it this time? What if Harlow deserved it for once? What if Ellvane High's perfect golden boy didn't clean up the mess this time?

Griff shook the thoughts off like they was poison.

He still had the council badge clipped to his hoodie. His cleats bounced against his back like a reminder: 'Ace', president, responsible.

He walked faster.

The door to Harlow's room was left cracked open. He was inside, making his way to Harlow's desk. Hands hidden in his jacket, mischief practically radiating off him like heat.

Griff cleared his throat loud enough to announce himself to no one but him.

"Don't do it."

Griff had said it simply. He hadn't yelled, hadn't done anything to get worked up. And yet, his heart was doing cartwheels, and he was already bracing for the smirk that would follow. The smirk that always made him want to either punch a wall or kiss it off his face.

Griff walked inside, slow but steady, eyes locked. He knew how this went — he'd stop him, lecture him, maybe shove him a little too hard against a locker just to make a point.

But there was something about today. Something that made Griff hesitate in going all the way.

Maybe it was the sun. Maybe it was the thought of the Acropolis. Maybe it was the way his shoulders looked relaxed as he turned. Like he was having fun doing this, like this little chaos mission was what made him feel alive.

Griff's voice dipped low. "Come on, man. Don't make me stop you."

For once, Griff didn't know if he wanted to stop this.