She finally reached him, pulling up just inches away, slightly breathless. Wisps of expertly highlighted hair had escaped her usually immacute ponytail. "Dude," she gasped, pnting her hands on her hips for a split second before seemingly remembering she had an image to maintain and smoothing down her jacket instead. "Seriously, slow down! You walk like you're being chased by bees. Or worse, Mr. Henderson asking about overdue library books."

  Her voice cked its typical yer of ironic detachment. Her eyes did a blink-and-you'll-miss-it scan of the immediate vicinity – left, right, quick gnce over her shoulder. It was the kind of subtle recon you do when you're about to drop cssified intel or ask to borrow fifty bucks.

  "James," she said again, her voice dropping conspiratorially low, forcing him to lean in slightly, creating an impromptu cone of semi-silence amidst the swirling noise. The scent of her cherry lip gloss was suddenly very noticeable. "Got a second? For real? We need to talk. Like, now."

  Okay. James's internal 'Weird-Sh*t-O-Meter' needle just smmed into the red zone. He instinctively tightened his grip on his backpack strap until his knuckles whitened. Toya demanding an immediate, serious conversation?

  In the middle of the post-bell apocalypse? This deviated wildly from standard Toya operating procedure, which usually involved drive-by sarcasm or a strategically deployed text message. His brain, which had been happily contempting virtual goblins, was now running threat assessments.

  "Uh… sure, Toya," he replied, aiming for casual but probably nding somewhere near 'startled deer'. "Everything cool? You look kinda… wired." Bad word choice?

  Maybe.

  Toya waved a dismissive hand, but her eyes remained ser-focused on his. "Never mind how I look. This is important." She leaned in even closer, her voice barely above a whisper now, forcing him to strain to hear over a nearby argument about whether anime counts as 'real art'.

  "It’s about Dipa."

  Boom. Just like that, any lingering thoughts of escape evaporated. James's attention snapped into high-definition focus. Forget the Slimy Slime; this felt way more critical.

  "Dipa?" he repeated, his own voice automatically dropping to match hers. Images of Dipa looking slightly pale after their st Judo session fshed through his mind. "What’s wrong? Is she okay? Did something happen? She seemed fine this morning, mostly…"

  "Define 'fine'," Toya shot back, her brow furrowed deeper. "Because the Dipa I saw yesterday? Not fine. Not even close."

  She worried her lower lip again, a tiny crack in her usual composure. "Look, I caught her by her locker right after the bell. Just wanted to ask if she'd seen the new episode of that trashy reality show we both secretly watch, you know? Normal stuff."

  She paused, searching his face, gauging his reaction. "And James, it was like talking to a brick wall. A really sad, slightly slumped brick wall. One-word answers."

  "Staring at her shoes like they held the secrets to the universe. When I asked if she was still down about the Judo thing – you know, trying to gently probe – she just gave this pathetic little shrug." Toya shuddered dramatically.

  "It was seriously depressing. Like watching a puppy lose its favourite squeaky toy in slow motion."