Evelyn’s Corridor of Time

Chapter 7: The Conspiracy of the Dance

The gym was a glitter-soaked fever dream, a neon-lit battleground where the air thrummed with bass and the sharp tang of sweat-soaked desperation. The Spring Dance had turned the place into a war zone of sequins and hormones—streamers drooped from the rafters like battle scars, disco balls spun their fractured light across the scuffed hardwood floor, and the walls, plastered with peeling posters of last year’s champs, vibrated with the chaos of a hundred kids grinding to some overplayed pop anthem. I stood at the edge, a lone wolf in a deep red off-shoulder gown that hugged me like a second skin, the slit up the thigh flashing a dare with every step. My hair was a wild cascade down my back, sweat already beading at my nape from the heat of the crowd, and my sneakers—yeah, I ditched the heels—squeaked defiantly against the polished floor. No more playing dress-up for their rules. This was my night, my stage, and I was here to detonate their little conspiracy like a goddamn supernova.

The video I’d snagged in the storage room had gone nuclear—half a million views on t****k in two days, Liam’s wheeze and Maya’s banshee scream remixed into a dozen memes. “Caught with their pants down” trended harder than a celebrity meltdown, and I’d strutted into school that week with my head high, shredded skirt and all, soaking in the whispers like they were applause. But the texts—those cryptic, spine-chilling warnings from the unknown number—kept coming. Dance is your stage. They’re reloading the cannons. I knew Maya and Liam weren’t done. They’d licked their wounds, and now they were back, sharper, nastier, ready to bury me under something bigger than a viral clip. Tonight was their endgame, and I was the prey they’d rigged to fall.

I scanned the crowd, my heart a jackhammer in my chest. Maya was easy to spot—queen bee in a silver mini-dress that screamed “worship me,” her hair a sleek weapon framing that smug, perfect face. She twirled in the center, a predator in glitter, laughing too loud as a circle of drones clapped like she’d invented dancing. Liam was at her side, black suit jacket slung over one shoulder, his grin a blade slicing through the noise. They moved like they owned the place, and maybe they did—until I crashed their party.

My phone buzzed in my clutch, and I yanked it out, the screen glowing against my flushed skin. A text: Look up. I did, and my stomach dropped. Above the dance floor, a massive projector screen flickered to life, casting a harsh white glow over the crowd. Faces turned, murmurs rippled, and then—there I was. Not the speech disaster, not the storage room takedown, but something new. Me, on the rooftop with Liam, his lips on mine, my blouse gaping, my hands on his chest. The footage was grainy, warped, but the audio was crystal: “You’re special, Ev. Different.” His voice, smooth and fake, followed by my shaky, “Liam…” Then a cut—brutal, jagged—to me screaming at him, “You’re with her, aren’t you? Maya!” The crowd gasped, a collective inhale that sucked the air dry, and the screen froze on my tear-streaked face, wild-eyed, blouse torn, skirt hiked up like some tragic prom-night cliché.

Laughter erupted, a tidal wave crashing over me, and I stumbled back, my gown catching on a chair, the slit ripping higher to flash my thigh. My chest heaved, the fabric straining as I fought for breath, and Maya’s voice cut through the chaos like a guillotine. “Oh, Evelyn, sweetie! Did you really think he’d pick you over me?” She sauntered forward, hips swaying, the crowd parting like she was Moses in stilettos. Liam flanked her, his smirk a loaded gun, and I saw it—their trap, snapping shut. They’d twisted my moment, my vulnerability, into their weapon, and now the whole school was in on the kill.

“You’re pathetic,” Liam added, voice loud enough to echo off the rafters, “chasing me like some lovesick puppy. That little trick of yours? We’ve got it all on tape. You’re done, freak.”

The pin in my clutch burned, a supernova in my hand, screaming rewind, rewind, blow this all to hell! My head throbbed, the familiar ache clawing behind my eyes, but I gripped it tighter, fighting the urge. No more running. No more losing chunks of myself to their game. I straightened, my gown’s slit gaping like a war wound, and grinned—a feral, unhinged s***h that made Maya’s smirk falter.

“You think that’s gonna break me?” I shouted, voice raw and booming, cutting through the music like a chainsaw. “You’ve got nothing! I’ve got you on camera—pants down, plotting like the slimy rats you are. This?” I gestured at the screen, my laugh sharp and wild. “This is your desperation showing!”

The crowd shifted, murmurs turning to whispers, and I saw it—doubt flickering in their eyes. Maya’s jaw tightened, and Liam stepped forward, but I wasn’t done. I ripped my clutch open, yanked out my phone, and hit play on the storage room clip—blasting it through the gym’s hacked Bluetooth speakers. Liam’s wheeze, Maya’s shriek, their half-naked panic filled the air, louder than the pop track, and the crowd exploded—laughter, gasps, phones snapping pics like a paparazzi frenzy.

“See that?” I roared, spinning to face them, my gown swirling like a cape. “That’s your king and queen, ladies and gents! Caught red-handed, screwing each other and screwing me over! Who’s the freak now?”

Maya lunged, claws out, her silver dress flashing like a blade, but I dodged, my sneakers skidding as I danced back, cackling like a madwoman. “Missed me, princess!” I taunted, and Liam charged, fists clenched, but I sidestepped, shoving a chair into his path. He tripped, crashing into a table of punch bowls—red liquid splashing everywhere, soaking his suit, his hair, his dignity. The crowd howled, and I spun to Maya, grabbing a streamer from the floor and whipping it at her like a lasso. It tangled in her hair, and she shrieked, flailing as I laughed harder, my voice a weapon of its own.

“You’re finished!” she screamed, ripping the streamer free, her face a mask of rage. “We’ve got your secret—your little time trick! It’s live, Evelyn! Right now!”

My grin froze, and the screen flickered again. New footage—me in the library, rewinding the flowerpot, the air shimmering as time bent. Then the rooftop, me yanking Liam’s sleeve up, the recorder blinking, time snapping back. Gasps turned to shouts, phones aimed at me like a firing squad, and Maya’s laugh was a dagger, slicing deep. “Freak! You’re exposed!”

The pin flared, a white-hot pulse in my hand, and my head split open—pain so sharp I staggered, clutching my skull. Another memory gone—what? My first bike ride? Dad’s voice? I couldn’t tell, but the crowd’s roar drowned it out, a tidal wave of “Freak! Freak!” I sank to my knees, gown pooling around me, the slit torn to my hip, and Maya loomed, victorious, her silver dress glinting like armor.

But then—plot twist, baby—the gym doors slammed open, and Ms. Bennett stormed in, a purple-robed goddess of wrath, her silver hair a crown of fury. The crowd parted, stunned, and she strode to me, her boots pounding the floor like war drums. She yanked me up, her grip iron, and thrust a glowing talisman into my hand—a jagged stone pulsing with light, warm against my skin.

“Enough!” she bellowed, voice a thunderclap that silenced the room. The talisman flared, and time froze—streamers mid-fall, punch droplets hanging in the air, Maya’s smirk locked in place, Liam’s soaked scowl a statue. My jaw dropped, the pain in my head easing, and I stared at Ms. Bennett, her eyes blazing with something ancient, something terrifying.

“You’re not alone, Evelyn,” she said, low and fierce, her hand on my shoulder. “They don’t own you. This—” she tapped the talisman, “—is yours. Use it, or lose it.”

The crowd was statues, the gym a snapshot of chaos, and I clutched the talisman, its light seeping into me, steadying me. My gown was a shredded banner, my body bruised but unbroken, and I stood taller, grinning through the sweat and tears. Maya and Liam thought they’d won, thought they’d stripped me bare—but they’d just handed me the spotlight.

I turned to Ms. Bennett, voice steady. “What is this?”

“Your power,” she said, eyes glinting. “Not the pin’s. Yours. They’ve pushed too far, and time’s done playing nice.”

The talisman pulsed, a heartbeat in my hand, and I laughed—a raw, victorious sound that echoed in the frozen silence. The dance was my stage, alright, and I wasn’t just surviving their conspiracy—I was rewriting the damn script. Maya and Liam were about to learn: you don’t corner a wolf and walk away unscathed.

My phone buzzed in my clutch, ignored on the floor, but I didn’t need to check it to know—someone was still watching, still texting, still pulling strings. The talisman glowed brighter, and I squared my shoulders, ready for the next move. The cannons were reloaded, but I was the one firing now.

As time ticked back to life, the crowd unfroze, and I raised the talisman high, its light blasting through the gym like a supernova. “Game on, bitches,” I whispered, and the roar of the crowd swallowed me whole—fear, awe, chaos, all mine to command.