Dorm Diaries

Chapter Three - Glitter Bomb Incoming

“So,” Riley said the next morning as she laced up her neon sneakers, “when Brielle says ‘physical,’ she usually means something savage.”

“Like dodgeball?” I asked, tying my ponytail tighter. “Tug of war? A human sacrifice?”

“Worse,” she deadpanned. “Obstacle course. Mud. Water balloons. Slip ‘n slides. Basically, t****k meets bootcamp.”

Perfect. Just what I wanted. A public display of my lack of coordination.

The announcement had been posted at midnight on the DormTrolls account, complete with a GIF of Coach Dennings yelling into a megaphone:

"Dorm Wars Day Two: Physical Frenzy – Bring It or Break It."

I wasn’t built for combat sports. I was built for sarcasm and coffee. But here we were.

By 10 a.m., the entire school had gathered behind the gym, where the field had been transformed into something out of Wipeout. There were cones, hurdles, rope swings over inflatable pools, and—because Crescent Hill had no chill—a glitter cannon at the finish line. Yes. A literal cannon. Of glitter.

Each team had to race in pairs, relay style. First to finish with the least penalties? Immune from Friday’s elimination round. Losers? Glitter-blasted and put on janitor duty for a week.

No pressure.

Riley scanned the crowd, shielding her eyes from the sun like a battlefield scout. “Okay, so Glams are going first. Obviously. Brielle insisted.”

Of course she did. Brielle wasn’t just a team captain—she was a full-time drama department. We watched as she and Maya jogged up to the starting line in perfectly matching sets. Like, full-on rhinestone sports bras and white biker shorts.

“Who wears white to an obstacle course?” I whispered.

“Do they think this is Coachella?” Ty muttered, unimpressed.

The whistle blew.

Brielle sprinted like she was on America’s Next Top Track Star, but when she reached the tire section, she face-planted so hard the crowd went silent. You could hear the collective gasp from the entire sophomore section.

And then—BOOM.

A water balloon to the face. Courtesy of the next station. Direct hit. It was brutal. It was beautiful.

I had to hand it to her: Brielle got up like nothing happened and powered through, wet hair flying, pride absolutely bruised. Maya squealed her way across the finish line and collapsed dramatically into Zara’s arms like she was auditioning for a daytime soap.

“Eight penalties,” Coach Dennings barked into the megaphone. “Time: four minutes, twenty-six seconds.”

“Not bad,” Chase whispered beside me, his arm brushing mine. “You ready?”

Wait. What?

“Us? We’re up?”

He nodded. “You and me. Tag team.”

“Oh no. Nope. I’m gonna break a rib.”

“You’ll be fine,” he said with a wink. “Just follow my lead.”

Which is hard to do when your legs turn into spaghetti noodles around your crush.

Riley shoved me forward like a proud stage mom. “Go! Win! Flirt!”

We lined up. Chase adjusted the bandana tied around his head like he was about to rob a bank, not run a course. He flexed once, for no reason. I pretended not to notice.

The whistle blew, and we were off.

We leaped over cones. Vaulted hay bales. I nearly died at the rope swing but landed without snapping an ankle—miracle. When Chase tossed me a water balloon, I threw it with all the rage I’d collected from middle school gym class.

Direct hit on the target. Boom.

We slid across the inflatable pool and sprinted for the glitter cannon. Chase grabbed my hand mid-run, and my brain short-circuited again—but we crossed the line laughing and covered in mud.

“Three penalties,” Coach Dennings said. “Time: three minutes, twenty even.”

Riley screamed like we’d just won Olympic gold. Ty howled. Zara clapped once—maybe ironically, maybe not.

Brielle looked like she’d swallowed her glitter lip gloss.

“Oh no,” she said, fake-smiling at me with the warmth of a frozen waffle. “Did we lose to the thrift store girl ?"

I opened my mouth, but Riley beat me to it with a raised brow.

“We prefer Team Blue Icons, thanks.”

And then Ty walked over and high-fived me. “You just went full ninja back there.”

“I think I blacked out,” I breathed, still catching my breath.

“Can confirm,” Chase added, handing me a towel. “You were feral.”

Later that afternoon, we all met in the common room again, where DormTrolls had already posted the footage of me almost falling into the pool—and Chase catching my arm before I ate turf.

Caption:

> “Ava: slips

Chase: catches

Brielle: plotting murder in the background

#ShipIt

#GlitterIncoming”

“Great,” I muttered. “Now I’m getting shipped online.”

Riley burst out laughing. “I love us. We’re like… the underdog Avengers.”

Ty tossed popcorn in the air and tried (failed) to catch it in his mouth. “More like chaos gremlins, but okay.”

Then came the knock.

Everyone turned. A box had been left outside the door, wrapped in metallic pink with a bow and a note taped to the top. Ty grabbed it and read aloud:

“To the Blue Team. Since you’re so full of yourselves, thought you could use more glitter. XO – B.”

Riley gasped. “Don’t—”

Too late.

The box exploded.

Glitter. EVERYWHERE.

Ty was covered. My hair? Ruined. Chase stood there like he’d just survived a disco grenade. Zara didn’t even blink.

“YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME!” Riley screamed, brushing sparkles off her hoodie like it had personally offended her.

Chase picked a sequin off my cheek, his fingers brushing my skin. “Well. Guess we know who’s spiraling.”

I looked down at my now sparkly socks. “Oh, it’s on.”

From the corner, Zara said without emotion, “War has officially been declared.”

And from somewhere down the hall, we heard Brielle’s signature laugh.

This school? Completely unhinged.

And apparently, so was I—because I was not going to let Queen Glitter get the last laugh.

Tomorrow, it was payback time.