who's next ??

627 Words
πŸŒ‘ CTRL πŸŒ‘ πΆβ„Žπ‘Žπ‘π‘‘π‘’π‘Ÿ π‘‡β„Žπ‘Ÿπ‘’π‘’..... By Wednesday, Eden Heights wasn't just buzzing. It was buzz-sawing. Every hallway was a rumor. Every glance could kill. Every laugh sounded like it was about you. Especially if your name was Tami Westwood. The GHSpillz leak had started a fire, and instead of putting it out, everyone else poured gasoline on it. The school felt different now - like the walls were listening. Like anything said in a whisper could end up in a post the next morning. And the latest leak didn't help. The video. The voice. Tami had replayed it seventeen times. And each time, her blood ran colder. Because it sounded like her. But she never remembered saying it. Clara had been with her when the post dropped. She gasped, like the perfect friend. Held Tami's hand. Said, "They're framing you. His is targeted. We need to find out who these people are before they destroy you." Tami didn't argue. She was already being destroyed. By second period, people weren't just whispering. They were watching. As if they expected her to break. As if CTRL was a game and she was the board. "Don't let them see you sweat," Clara whispered beside her in AP Literature. "You're Tami Westwood. They wish they could break you." But something in Clara's tone felt.....almost hungry. Like she enjoyed being this close to the drama. Cassie was two rows back, watching. Earbuds in. Typing.... always typing. Alia sat alone in the library. Hoodie up. Books open but pages unturned. She hadn't said a word since their conversation in the auditorium. And now, another message was floating around - not from GHSpillz, but from students. Gossip spreading faster than truth. "π‘€π‘Žπ‘¦π‘π‘’ 𝐢𝑇𝑅𝐿'𝑠 π‘‘π‘Ÿπ‘œπ‘π‘π‘–π‘›π‘” π‘‡π‘Žπ‘šπ‘– π‘π‘’π‘π‘Žπ‘’π‘ π‘’ π‘ β„Žπ‘’ π‘‘π‘Ÿπ‘œπ‘π‘π‘’π‘‘ π΄π‘™π‘–π‘Ž." "π»π‘œπ‘›π‘’π‘ π‘‘π‘™π‘¦, π΄π‘™π‘–π‘Ž π‘Žπ‘™π‘€π‘Žπ‘¦π‘  π‘ π‘’π‘’π‘šπ‘’π‘‘ π‘‘π‘œπ‘œ π‘žπ‘’π‘–π‘’π‘‘ π‘‘π‘œ 𝑏𝑒 π‘Ÿπ‘’π‘Žπ‘™." "π‘€π‘Žπ‘¦π‘π‘’ π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘™π‘’π‘Žπ‘˜π‘  π‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘’ π‘˜π‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘šπ‘Ž." It was poison disguised as speculation. She hated it. Even though she was angry. Even though she still felt that sting from Tami's voice in the voice recording. Some part of her wanted to reach out. To hear Tami's explanation. To believe that there was more to it than jealousy and betrayal. But then she'd remember the look in Tami's eyes when she didn't deny it. Cold. Sharp. Final. So she stayed quiet. And CTRL kept posting. CTRL dropped another post at 1:12 PM. "𝑂𝑛𝑒 π‘œπ‘“ π‘‘β„Žπ‘’π‘š 𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑑. π‘‡β„Žπ‘’ π‘œπ‘‘β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿ π‘ π‘‘π‘Žπ‘¦π‘’π‘‘ 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑑. 𝐡𝑒𝑑 π‘ π‘’π‘π‘Ÿπ‘’π‘‘π‘  π‘‘π‘œπ‘›'𝑑 𝑠𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑝. πΉπ‘Ÿπ‘–π‘‘π‘Žπ‘¦ 𝑀𝑖𝑙𝑙 π‘€π‘Žπ‘˜π‘’ π‘‘β„Žπ‘’π‘š 𝑒𝑝." It was tagged: #π‘™π‘’π‘Žπ‘œπ‘π‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘‘π‘π‘Ÿπ‘–π‘›π‘‘ Γ— β„Žπ‘’π‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘‘π‘π‘Ÿπ‘’π‘Žπ‘˜ # No names. But everyone knew. Tami and Alia. Again. Later that day, in the locker hallway, Tami pressed her lips together and opened her locker slowly. Inside, taped to the back wall l, was a sticky note. "π‘†π‘œπ‘šπ‘’π‘œπ‘›π‘’'𝑠 π‘€π‘Žπ‘‘π‘β„Žπ‘–π‘›π‘” π‘¦π‘œπ‘’π‘Ÿ π‘’π‘£π‘’π‘Ÿπ‘¦ π‘šπ‘œπ‘£π‘’. 𝐼𝑛𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 π‘‘β„Žπ‘–π‘  π‘œπ‘›π‘’." -𝐢 She stared at it. Chills. Clara tapped her from behind. "Everything okay?" Tami snatched the note and shoved it in her blazer. She forced a smile. "Yeah. Just fan mail." In a corner of the computer room, Cassie sat with Daniel. "Something's off," she muttered, voice low. "CTRL's pattern changed. The posts are sharper. They're playing games now. Psychological ones." Daniel raised a brow. "You think it's more than one person?" Cassie's eyes narrowed. "I think we're all underestimating how far they are willing to go." That night, Eden Heights' group chats were chaos. Everyone guessing the next secret. Everyone wondering; "Who's next?" Tami laid in bed with Clara on FaceTime, barely listening. Her thoughts spun. Not about Alia. Not about CTRL. But about that sticky note. And how it wasn't written in Clara's handwriting. But it was definitely placed when Clara was nearby. By 10:04 PM, CTRL had dropped another post. One sentence. "π‘‡β„Žπ‘’ 𝑛𝑒π‘₯𝑑 π‘™π‘’π‘Žπ‘˜ 𝑀𝑖𝑙𝑙 π‘‘π‘’π‘ π‘‘π‘Ÿπ‘œπ‘¦ π‘ π‘œπ‘šπ‘’π‘œπ‘›π‘’'𝑠 π‘“π‘’π‘‘π‘’π‘Ÿπ‘’." No names. No image. Just dread.
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