Did I Just Steal An Asteroid?

The asteroid thing? Already caused a scene.

Not in a destructive way—just in a words way. Everyone's been talking about it since I woke up.

Apparently, they say, it was huge, headed straight for Earth… and then it just vanished.

I'm shocked. Who did that?

That's the beauty of it. A catastrophe erased before it could begin. The world keeps turning. People keep existing for what reason.

And now, I have to go to school.

I just single-handedly prevented global extinction, and now I'm being forced to sit through a physics lecture about Newton's laws, pretending like they actually apply to me. The irony is painful.

Miss Robin stands at the front of the classroom, writing F = ma on the board like it's some kind of divine revelation. "Newton's First Law states that an object in motion stays in motion unless acted upon by an unbalanced force," she says.

Yeah? Tell that to the asteroid I erased from existence last night.

I stare blankly at my notebook, where I've doodled a tiny asteroid with a big red X over it. If I had a peso for every celestial object I've casually erased, I wouldn't need to be here.

Miss Robin keeps talking. "For example, if a meteor were to enter Earth's atmosphere—"

I nearly choke. Oh, come on.

"—it would continue accelerating due to gravity until atmospheric drag slows it down, causing it to burn up before impact."

Lies. I didn't let it get that far.

I glance around. No one else seems to be having an existential crisis over this. Leah is half-asleep, Sebastian is aggressively clicking his pen like it personally offended him, and Angel is sitting with perfect posture, pretending she actually cares.

Meanwhile, I'm sitting here, knowing full well that an object in motion does not stay in motion if I decide it shouldn't.

Miss Robin turns to the class. "Alright, who can tell me what happens if an object suddenly disappears mid-motion?"

Sam raises his hand. "Uh, is this a trick question?"

"No, it's a thought experiment," Miss Robin says.

I stare at my desk. Thought experiment? More like Tuesday night.

Recess came, and the cafeteria are noisy as ever. Thoughts bounce around my head like an overcrowded waiting room.

I forgot my homework. If I fake a stomachache, will they send me home or just to the clinic with Yakult?

Bold of you to assume they'll even believe you.

If I fail this test, my mom's gonna make me study for 25 hours a day.

Tell her time doesn't work like that. See what happens.

If I text first, will I look desperate? Or confident? Or both? Or neither???

Just send "hi" and let them suffer.

Why did I watch 15 episodes of anime last night instead of sleeping? I have regrets.

That's crazy. You should watch 20 next time.

Human thoughts.

Mundane.

Predictable.

Absurd.

I navigate through the chaos, expression blank. I don't acknowledge anyone. They don't acknowledge me.

Perfect.

I head to my usual seat—only to find Sam already there.

Of course he is.

"Yo," he greets, grinning. "You saw the live news?"

"No." I don't bother looking at him as I set down my tray.

Today, I decided to be different. Switching things up—spaghetti and fries, instead of my usual. No apples, and water. A bold choice.

Sam leans against the metal chair, chewing his gum like he's in a drama about a rebellious high schooler. "Some scientists were freaking out last night. Said an asteroid went missing. Just poof, vanished."

Oh, right. Scientists. I forgot about them. Must've been a real tough night for them. Equations everywhere. Telescopes in distress.

Tragic.

I grab my fork. "Hm."

Sam squints at me. "That's it? Just 'hm'? A whole asteroid disappeared!"

I stab my spaghetti. "Happens."

"Happens? Space rocks don't just go vanish!"

I blink at him. "Maybe it decided it doesn't want to hit earth. I don't know."

Sam stares at me for a moment, then bursts out laughing. "That's such a you thing to say." He gasps between wheezes. "You're so funny."

I didn't respond.

Because I don't care.

Now, we're back to the second layer of hell. We take our seats. The teacher drones on about something irrelevant. I don't listen. I don't need to. The answers are already in my head.

A pencil rolls off a desk two rows away. Before it hits the floor, I stop it mid-air and nudge it back onto the desk.

I saw Alex, the owner of the pencil, blinks confusingly, but doesn't question it anyway. He just took his pencil and started questioning the reality, the existence.

Yeah, I know right, it happened to me too, Alex. It's just another weird thing that happens sometimes. Trust me.

I avoided his thoughts because it's a pain in the head.

A few seats away, Angel sits with perfect posture, pen in hand, eyes focused on the board—looking every bit like the ideal student.

I looked at her notebook using my clairvoyance.

She's not even writing a single word.

I know Avaris saw me at the mall. Did she see me? No. She didn't. She couldn't have. But what if she did? No. That's impossible. No one outsmarts me. But still…

I flick my gaze toward her. What mall? I don't mall. I really didn't went to mall.

Sigh. I used retrocognition to check. I just saw a long black haired girl, dressed like me and all. See, that wasn't me. She's just paranoid.

Then, I heard Sebastian tapping his pencil against his desk.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I glance over. He's staring at his notebook like it just personally offended him.

Good. Let him suffer.

Why does the Pythagorean theorem even exist? Who asked for this? Who wakes up and thinks, 'Yeah, let's make triangles more complicated'???

I smirk. Yes, truly one of life's greatest injustices.

Sebastian groans and drops his head on the desk. No one even cares about triangles! What if I just… ignore math? What's math gonna do? Fight me?

Budget Dracula challenging math? Careful, it might fight back.

He and Sam really thinks alike. No wonder they're friends.

Sebastian then suddenly started at me.

Bet Avaris could steal an asteroid. Like, just pocket it. Space thieft. She'd get away with it too. Probably already did. Holy crap, what if she—

Hey, I thought we're fighting math here?

I sigh.

I should've let the asteroid hit earth.