Geography passed in a blur. The lesson barely felt like a lesson at all. Ms. Decroix, perhaps sensing the weight pressing down on the students, abandoned the sylbus halfway through. Instead, she invited them to share memories of Wade—stories that might lift the heavy air and remind them of who he was beyond the tragedy of his death.

  At first, the responses were hesitant, the css still reeling. But as one voice followed another, the mood shifted. People spoke of Wade’s effortless kindness, how he made everyone feel noticed, how he had a way of turning awkward moments into jokes that left everyone in stitches.

  One girl reminisced about the time Wade had spent an entire lunch break helping her fix a project she had accidentally destroyed minutes before it was due. "He was, like, my personal superhero that day," she said with a watery ugh.

  Another boy recalled how Wade once spent an entire school assembly whispering the wrong lyrics to the national anthem in his ear, just to see if he could make him crack up in front of the principal.

  Then came Jet’s turn. He leaned back slightly, a smirk pying on his lips.

  "Alright," he began, his voice taking on an almost reluctant tone, like he wasn’t sure he should tell the story but had decided to anyway. "I wasn’t going to bring this up, but since we’re all sharing… I guess now’s the time to admit that Wade and I nearly burned down the chemistry b st year."

  The css perked up instantly.

  Ms. Hartford’s eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

  Jet chuckled. "Okay, okay—technically, it wasn’t a fire, more like… an extremely aggressive smoke situation."

  A few students leaned in, intrigued.

  "It was after school," Jet continued. "Wade and I were supposed to be cleaning up after a chemistry club experiment. Nothing serious—just wiping down tables, putting equipment away. But Wade, being Wade, got distracted. He started messing with some leftover reactants on the counter, just mixing random stuff together to see what would happen."

  There were a few knowing ughs. Of course Wade would do something like that.

  "So I tell him, ‘Dude, maybe don’t do that,’ and he’s like, ‘Rex, I totally know what I’m doing.’" Jet rolled his eyes. "Next thing we know, the beaker he’s using starts fizzing. Then it starts bubbling. And before either of us can react—boom." He cpped his hands together, making a few people jump. "Thick, purple smoke everywhere. The arms go off. I can’t see a damn thing. We’re both coughing our lungs out, Wade’s ughing his ass off, and I’m just trying not to die."

  "Please tell me you didn’t set off the sprinklers," someone said between chuckles.

  "Almost," Jet said. "We managed to air it out before the system kicked in. But the whole b reeked for days. And of course, we swore we’d never tell anyone because we didn’t want to get banned from the chem b. But, well…" He spread his hands with a grin. "I guess the secret’s out now."

  The cssroom erupted into ughter. Even Ms. Decroix covered her mouth, eyes glistening with a mix of amusement and sorrow.

  Jet grinned, basking in the ughter. But then, for the briefest second, his expression shifted—his smirk turning cold and hollow.

  Because that story never happened. And Wade would never be here to say otherwise.

  Despite the ughter, despite the warmth of shared memories, the weight of Wade’s absence never fully lifted. Every so often, someone's eyes would flicker to the front of the cssroom—to his empty desk, and the reality would sink in all over again.

  By the time geography ended, the school day had settled into its regur rhythm—at least on the surface. Jet made his way to physics, taking his usual seat at the front.

  Mr. Halloway, an older man with a perpetually tired expression, unched into a lecture about electromagnetic fields.

  "Now, Faraday’s Law states that a change in magnetic flux induces an electromotive force—"

  Jet barely listened. He didn’t need to.

  Mr. Halloway continued scribbling on the whiteboard, his back turned to the css as he muttered expnations. Then, he paused, tapping the marker against his palm.

  "Alright," he said, turning back to face them. "Let’s see who’s awake. Solve this."

  He scrawled an equation across the board—long, complex, daunting. The css collectively stiffened.

  "Jet," the teacher called, eyes locking onto him. "Come give it a shot."

  Jet stood without hesitation, taking the whiteboard marker. He studied the equation for a moment before speaking, his voice calm and assured.

  "First, we need to isote the induced EMF," he began, underlining part of the equation. "Since the flux is changing at a constant rate, we can differentiate using—" He smoothly applied the formu, breaking it down step by step, his handwriting precise and deliberate.

  As he reached the final answer, he capped the marker and stepped back.

  Mr. Halloway eyed the board, then let out a slow exhale. "Huh. I actually didn’t think you’d get that one. You must be studying ahead, Mr. Ragnarsson."

  Jet only smiled as he returned to his seat. He didn’t need to study ahead. If the poor man knew that Jet had solved this equation a dozen times in his sleep—that he had relived entire physics lessons in his dreams—would he have a heart attack? As Jet settled back in his chair, his mind wandered. It was hard to believe how different life used to be before he acquired his gift. In the past, he had been weak, miserable, bullied. The anxiety, the loneliness, the constant feeling of being a nobody had shrouded him from Sunday to Saturday for months and years.

  But those days were over.

  Now, he was the most admired student in school. Wade had been his only real competition for the captainship. Now, there was no competition. Jet’s grades were immacute. His record, fwless. His path to a prestigious college, secured. He was a step closer to his dreams. Not the ones he had while asleep. The ones he had while awake, the ambitions he’d been aiming for since he was a kid.

  Jet sighed. Whenever he thought back to the moment he had stumbled upon his dream-jacking abilities, a chill ran down his spine. His power had come at a tremendous risk—one that could have ended with him six feet under if even the slightest thing had gone wrong. But back then, he hadn’t cared. Life and death had felt equally meaningless, and that reckless indifference had been precisely why he had succeeded.

  Now, with everything he had gained, he wasn’t sure whether to be grateful for his past desperation or terrified of it.

  Most people didn’t truly understand the power of dreams. Psychology liked to skim the surface, discussing subconscious influence over the conscious mind, but that was only a fraction of the truth. The real mystery y in the unseen quantum mesh that connected all living things—a web of existence where dreams weren’t just random fragments of imagination but extensions of reality itself. And Jet and the four individuals in the Awakened Chat Room had found a way to manipute it.

  After physics, Jet approached Mr. Halloway before the css was dismissed. "Sir, would it be alright if I spoke to everyone for a moment?"

  Mr. Halloway allowed it.

  Jet turned to face his cssmates, his expression open and earnest. "I won’t take up too much of your time, guys," he started, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of sincerity. "I just wanted to say something about Wade’s memorial service. The school is organizing it, but I want to make sure it’s something special—something that truly honors who he was."

  A few students shifted in their seats, their grief still raw.

  "I know not everyone is in the right headspace for this," Jet continued, "and I completely understand if you’re not able to help. But for those who are willing, I’d really appreciate any volunteers to assist in putting it together. Whether it’s helping set up, organizing, or just being there to support—it would mean a lot."

  For a brief moment, the room was silent. Then, slowly, hands began to rise. Seven in total—four boys and three girls.

  A few other students hesitated before speaking up. "I want to help," one admitted, "but I have practice after school."

  "Same," another said. "I’ve got a huge test next week, but if I can squeeze in some time, I’ll try to come."

  Jet nodded understandingly. "I get it, really. No pressure at all. Even if you can only drop by for a bit, it’s still appreciated. Just knowing that people care enough to help makes all the difference."

  A murmur of agreement passed through the css.

  "Alright, those who are avaible, please stay behind after school. Thank you, everyone."

  On cue, the bell rang, signaling the start of recess. The css was dismissed, but six students remained behind—all of them looking at Jet.