Evelyn’s Corridor of Time

Chapter 8: The Showdown of All Showdowns

The gym was a war zone lit up like a supernova, the air crackling with electricity and the sweet, sticky stench of spilled punch. The disco balls spun like frantic satellites, hurling shards of light across the hardwood floor, now slick with chaos—red stains pooling around Liam’s crumpled form, streamers tangled like tripwires, and the crowd’s roar thundering louder than a jet engine on takeoff. My deep red gown was a battle flag, shredded to ribbons at the slit, flashing thigh and fury with every move, the off-shoulder straps slipping as sweat poured down my neck, plastering my wild hair to my skin. My sneakers gripped the floor like claws, and in my hand, the talisman Ms. Bennett had thrust at me glowed—a jagged, pulsing star of raw power, its light scorching through my veins like liquid fire. Time had unfrozen, the gym erupting back into motion, and I stood in the eye of the storm, Evelyn Parker, no longer the prey but the goddamn predator ready to rip this conspiracy to shreds.

Maya’s silver dress flashed like a blade as she charged me, her face twisted into a snarl so ugly it could’ve curdled milk. “You’re DONE, freak!” she screeched, her voice a banshee wail slicing through the music, her stilettos clicking like gunfire. She swung a fist, nails glinting like talons, but I ducked, the talisman flaring brighter, and time stuttered—just a heartbeat, enough for me to spin behind her. I grabbed a fistful of her perfect hair and yanked, hard, sending her sprawling into a table of cupcakes. Frosting splattered her face—pink and blue smeared across her cheeks like war paint—and she screamed, flailing as the crowd howled with laughter.

“Frosting’s a good look, princess!” I shouted, my voice a cannon blast over the chaos, grinning so wide my face ached. “Matches your cold-ass heart!”

Liam was back on his feet, soaked in punch, his suit a dripping mess, his pretty-boy face contorted with rage. “You think you’re hot s**t, huh?” he roared, lunging at me, fists swinging like sledgehammers. I dodged, the talisman pulsing in sync with my heartbeat, and I felt it—time bending, not rewinding but slowing, the air thickening like syrup. His punch crawled past my face, and I smirked, slamming my elbow into his jaw with a c***k that echoed off the rafters. He stumbled, blood trickling from his lip, and I kicked his shin, sending him crashing back into the punch-soaked wreckage.

“Hot s**t? Nah, Liam,” I taunted, circling him like a shark smelling blood, my gown fluttering like a cape. “I’m the whole damn inferno, and you’re just kindling!”

The crowd was a tidal wave now—cheers, gasps, phones flashing like a paparazzi swarm—but Maya wasn’t done. She staggered up, cupcake goo dripping from her chin, and snatched a microphone from the DJ booth, her voice booming through the speakers. “She’s a MONSTER! Look at her—some witch with a cheap trick! We’ve got it ALL on tape—live, right now, you losers! She’s finished!” The screen flickered again, looping the library clip—me rewinding the flowerpot, the air shimmering—then cutting to the rooftop, my scream at Liam, the talisman’s glow edited out, making me look like a crazed lunatic.

The chant started—“Freak! Freak! Freak!”—a rhythmic gut-punch from the mob, but I laughed, loud and wild, the talisman searing my palm. “Monster? Oh, honey, you haven’t seen s**t yet!” I raised the glowing stone high, its light blasting out like a supernova, and the gym quaked—literally, the floor trembling, the rafters rattling, streamers snapping free and whipping through the air like vengeful spirits. The crowd screamed, ducking as the disco balls wobbled, one crashing down in a shower of glass that sparkled like deadly confetti.

Maya’s eyes widened, panic cracking her smug mask, and she bolted for the DJ booth, slamming buttons like she could stop me with tech. Liam scrambled up again, blood-streaked and feral, and charged, but Ms. Bennett was there—purple robe billowing like a storm cloud, her silver hair a halo of badassery. She stepped between us, her hand flashing out, and Liam froze mid-stride, his fist locked an inch from my face, his eyes bulging in shock.

“Enough of your tantrums,” she snapped, her voice a whip-c***k that silenced the room. She turned to me, eyes blazing. “Evelyn, now!”

I didn’t hesitate. The talisman flared, and I slammed it against the floor, a shockwave ripping out—time didn’t just slow, it shattered. The air exploded with golden light, freezing everyone but me and Ms. Bennett in a tableau of chaos: Maya mid-scream, Liam mid-punch, the crowd mid-roar, punch cups hovering mid-spill. My gown billowed, the slit tearing to my hip, and I stood there, chest heaving, sweat dripping down my spine, the talisman’s power surging through me like a tidal wave of pure, unfiltered badass.

Ms. Bennett grabbed my arm, her grip iron. “You’ve got one shot, girl. End this.”

I nodded, adrenaline pumping, and spun to face the frozen duo. “You wanted my secret?” I growled, my voice echoing in the eerie stillness. “Here’s the director’s cut!” I raised the talisman again, and the light twisted, bending reality—suddenly, the screen above flickered, not with their edited crap, but with my footage. The storage room clip, unfiltered—Liam’s wheeze, Maya’s shriek, their half-naked plotting in glorious, humiliating HD. Then the rooftop, unedited—Liam’s recorder blinking, his sneer, my raw fury as I called him out. The crowd, still frozen, couldn’t react, but I knew when time snapped back, they’d see it all.

“Checkmate, bitches,” I snarled, and slammed the talisman down again. Time roared back, the gym erupting—screams, cheers, chaos on steroids. The screen looped my victory reel, and Maya’s mic slipped from her hand, clattering as she sank to her knees, her silver dress a crumpled heap. Liam staggered, punch-soaked and beaten, and tripped over a chair, his pants sliding down to flash his ridiculous cartoon boxers—SpongeBob smirking at the crowd. The laughter hit like a tsunami, drowning their reign in one glorious, gut-busting wave.

I strutted forward, my gown a shredded crown, and loomed over Maya. “Who’s the clown now?” I said, voice low and lethal, then turned to Liam, smirking. “Nice undies, champ. Really screams ‘king of the school.’”

The crowd chanted my name—“Ev-e-lyn! Ev-e-lyn!”—and I soaked it in, fists raised, talisman glowing like a trophy. But then—the twist hit, a gut-punch from nowhere. The talisman flared hotter, searing my hand, and I gasped, dropping it as pain shot up my arm. It hit the floor with a c***k, light exploding outward, and I stumbled, my head splitting—another memory gone, sharper this time. My mom’s face, smiling at me over breakfast, flickered and died, leaving a black hole where her laugh used to be.

I hit my knees, the gown pooling around me, and the crowd’s cheers faded to a dull buzz as my vision swam. Blood trickled from my nose, hot and coppery, smearing the floor as I clutched my skull, a scream tearing out of me—raw, primal, shattering the gym’s noise. The talisman cracked, its light dimming, and Ms. Bennett was there, hauling me up, her face grim.

“It’s too much,” she hissed, her voice cutting through the fog. “You’ve pushed it too far.”

I blinked, dazed, the crowd a blur of faces—some cheering, some staring, phones still rolling. Maya sobbed, Liam groaned, but I barely heard them. My head pounded, my body shook, and the talisman’s shards glittered on the floor like broken promises. I’d won—holy hell, I’d won—but at what cost? My mom’s smile, gone. What else?

Ms. Bennett dragged me toward the exit, my sneakers slipping in punch, my gown dragging like a dead weight. “You’re not done yet,” she muttered, shoving me through the doors into the cool night air. The courtyard stretched out, all cracked stones and gnarled trees clawing at the sky, and I collapsed against a bench, chest heaving, blood dripping from my chin.

My phone buzzed in my clutch, abandoned on the gym floor, but someone—some random kid—ran out, tossing it to me. I caught it, hands trembling, and the screen lit up: t****k live. “She’s insane! What WAS that?!” Comments flooded—“Hero!” “Freak!” “Queen!”—but one text cut through, unknown number: “You think this is over? Look behind you.”

I spun, heart slamming, but the courtyard was empty—just shadows and wind. My head throbbed, the talisman’s shards still warm in my pocket where I’d scooped them up, and I laughed, a shaky, unhinged sound. Over? Hell no. I’d just blown their game wide open, and someone—something—was still out there, watching, waiting. The dance was my battlefield, and I’d claimed it, but the war? The war was just heating up.

I stood, wiping blood from my face, my gown a tattered victory flag. “Bring it,” I whispered to the night, and the shadows seemed to whisper back.