LOVING A DAMMED HIGH SCHOOL

CHAPTER 8: DETENTION DIARIES

Jordan never thought she’d end up in detention. She wasn’t a troublemaker—at least not officially. Sure, she might’ve laughed too hard during the cafeteria war, and maybe she’d been caught in the wrong hallway during Principal Graves’s epic meltdown, but detention? That was supposed to be for kids who set things on fire or spray-painted the gym floor.

Yet here she was.

The detention room was on the far side of the school, hidden like some cursed dungeon. The walls were pale yellow, the windows had bars (not actual bars, but the kind that screamed don’t even think about escaping), and the chairs squeaked every time someone moved. A crooked poster on the wall read: “Silence is Golden.” Someone had scribbled underneath: Except when farting.

Jordan dropped into her seat with a sigh. Across from her sat Ethan, looking completely at ease, arms folded, smirk glued to his face.

“Of course you’re here,” she muttered.

“Of course,” Ethan said smoothly. “Wouldn’t miss it. Detention’s just free time with bad chairs.”

Jordan rolled her eyes. “You’re acting like you planned this.”

Ethan tilted his head, like the thought amused him. “Maybe I did.”

Before Jordan could question him, the detention monitor walked in—a substitute teacher with coffee stains on his shirt, holding a clipboard like it was a weapon.

“Alright, delinquents,” he said, yawning. “No talking. No phones. No fun. You sit here for an hour, and if you so much as breathe too loud, I’ll add another hour.”

The room fell silent… for about ten seconds.

A crumpled piece of paper smacked Jordan’s arm. She looked down. A note. She unfolded it under the desk.

Ethan’s handwriting: Operation: Survive Detention. Step 1: Find snacks.

Jordan glared at him. He raised his eyebrows like, well?

She scribbled back: This isn’t a game.

He wrote: Everything’s a game. Especially this.

Jordan tried not to laugh, but a snort escaped. The monitor’s head snapped up. “Problem, Miss Rivers?”

“No, sir,” she said quickly, shooting Ethan a death glare.

The minutes crawled by. Someone tapped a rhythm with their pencil. Another kid hummed quietly. The squeaky chairs became a chorus of suffering.

Jordan leaned closer to Ethan and whispered, “Why are you so calm? You don’t care about getting in trouble?”

Ethan smirked. “Trouble’s… kind of my thing.”

Jordan frowned. “What does that even mean?”

Before he could answer, a loud thunk came from the back of the room. Everyone turned. A kid had smuggled in a bag of chips and dropped it on the floor. The sound echoed like a gunshot.

The monitor’s eyes narrowed. “Who. Has. The. Chips?”

Silence.

Ethan leaned back casually, whispering, “Step 2: snacks acquired.”

The room dissolved into barely-contained laughter.

The monitor lost it. “That’s it! You’re all staying an extra thirty minutes!”

Groans filled the air. Jordan dropped her head into her hands. “This is actual torture.”

But Ethan just grinned wider.

By the end of detention, Jordan was exhausted. She couldn’t decide what was worse: the squeaky chairs, the stale air, or Ethan’s constant smirk.

As they walked out, she finally asked, “Why are you enjoying this so much?”

Ethan glanced at her, eyes glinting. “Because this school… this place… it’s all just a game board. And I like watching how people play.”

Jordan shivered. For a second, it sounded less like a joke and more like a warning.

And as they reached the hallway, she noticed something carved into the detention desk where Ethan had sat:

“Welcome to the Game.”

Jordan froze. But when she looked back at Ethan, he was already walking away, whistling like nothing had happened.