THE NEW CLASS REP

The gates of Greenville looked just as I remembered them.

Bent slightly to the left. Smelling faintly of lemon smoke.

A "Welcome Back Students!" banner hung limply across the archway.

Half of it was burned.

The other half was upside down.

"So… we're pretending that didn't happen," I muttered as Alfred parked beside the walkway.

"I'm giving you two hours," he replied, tightening his seatbelt. "If anything glows, explodes, or levitates—you call me, I'll reverse this car through the fence."

"You're very devoted."

"I value my life."

I stepped out.

The morning air was deceptively calm. Students filed in like normal. Someone was already trying to sell cookies out of their locker.

And then—

"YOU AGAIN?!?!"

I froze.

Oh no.

I turned toward the source of the scream and, sure enough…

Principal Woodgate was having a breakdown behind the east building.

He was covered in dust, his tie halfway torn, and was chasing someone around the ruins of what used to be the Year 11 arts block.

"HOW DID YOU EVEN GET THAT EXCAVATOR?!" the principal shrieked, flinging a traffic cone.

The construction worker—a middle-aged man wearing a neon vest and rollerblades—shouted, "THE GROUND TOLD ME TO BUILD, REGINALD!"

"MY NAME ISN'T EVEN REGINALD!"

I blinked slowly.

Another building had a forklift halfway through it.

A cement mixer was gently spinning a group of lunch trays.

A student sat nearby sketching it like it was a still-life project.

I turned to the nearest classmate and asked,

"Did we not have a recovery team during the break?"

"Oh, we did," the student replied cheerfully. "But he was the recovery team."

She pointed at the rollerblading construction guy, who had now climbed the broken scaffolding and was screaming "LET THE REINFORCEMENT GUIDE YOU!"

I sighed.

Somewhere in the distance, a small explosion puffed a cloud of pink glitter out of a window.

"I haven't even made it to homeroom," I muttered.

Just then, Rosaline brushed past me wearing dark sunglasses and a lanyard with the words Agent Mode: Activated clipped to it.

"Welcome back, Harold," she whispered. "The ground whispers secrets. Stay alert."

And she was gone.

I stared after her.

Then back at the principal now wrestling the worker over a bulldozer key.

Maybe I should've just pretended I transferred to Canada.

–––––

I knew something was wrong the moment Mr. Hemsworth entered the room.

He wasn't holding coffee.

Mr. Hemsworth always had coffee. Even during fire drills.

But today? Just a clipboard.

That meant admin.

That meant announcements.

That meant… danger.

"Good morning, class," he said solemnly, like a man about to break news of a failed rocket launch.

The room fell into a hush.

Blake was in his seat, uncharacteristically upright. Rosaline was already taking notes on her spy pad. Kyle the alien who supposed to be our upperclassman had a juice box as he strangely sat the back of the class.

"Before we begin today's class, I need to inform you all…" Mr. Hemsworth paused dramatically, "that your former class representative—Millie Thompson—is currently in the hospital."

Murmurs broke out.

"She survived, right?"

"Does she still have both eyebrows?"

"Was it the fumes or the teleportation burst?"

Mr. Hemsworth raised a hand. "She's stable. But her hair is not. It will recover over time."

Blake leaned toward me.

"See? My hypothesis almost worked."

"You launched her halfway to Belgium."

"Only halfway."

Mr. Hemsworth cleared his throat again.

"That said, we now require a new class representative."

No.

Absolutely not.

My soul began slowly backing away into a mental corner.

"So," he continued, "we'll now take quick nominations."

I kept my eyes low. No movement. Breathe quiet. Be invisible.

"Anyone?"

Silence.

"Anyone at all?"

Still silence.

And then.

It happened.

I sneezed.

Just once.

Quiet. Innocent.

But in a silent room…

It was thunderous.

Mr. Hemsworth looked up, eyes brightening like he'd found water in a desert.

"Ah! Peter Harold. Volunteering. Excellent."

"Wait, no—"

"That's the spirit!"

"I wasn't—"

"Unanimous it is!"

I looked around in horror.

Everyone clapped.

Even Kyle, who didn't understand Earth politics.

Rosaline gave me a proud nod.

"We'll finally have someone with tactical awareness in charge."

Blake whispered, "Power suits you, bro."

"I don't want power."

"Too late, Supreme Chancellor."

I put my head on the desk.

Mr. Hemsworth handed me a folder.

"These are the forms you'll need to fill out. There's also a weekly meeting, a suggestion box to manage, and a monthly class behavior report to submit. But for now, all you gotta do is go give a speech to the class as a new class rep."

"I didn't ask for this."

"Neither did Millie."

"She also didn't ask to be launched into the ozone layer."

Mr. Hemsworth gave me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and walked away.

Rosaline leaned in. "Congratulations, Agent Harold. Your leadership was inevitable."

"I sneezed, Rosaline."

"Exactly. It was your signal."

I closed the folder.

Put it in my bag.

And muttered to myself as I stood up from my seat…

"So this is how democracy dies. With a tissue."

"Alright," I began, standing at the front of the class with my new Class Rep folder clutched like a hostage, "as your representative, I'd like to begin by addressing the missing window situation—"

"I nominate Blake as Vice Rep!" someone shouted.

"Seconded!"

"Denied," I snapped.

"I nominate this sandwich," Kyle said, placing a perfectly toasted panini on the desk.

Rosaline raised her hand. "I object. The sandwich is clearly a spy."

"It's ham and cheese," I said.

"Exactly."

Blake leaned toward me. "Should I give a speech?"

"You should sit down."

He stood on his chair. "Friends! Students! Chaos lovers—lend me your snacks!"

"BLAKE."

"As your unofficial co-rep—"

"You're not—"

"—I promise flying lockers, longer chaos breaks, and free-range glitter!"

Someone threw a glow stick. The sandwich was stolen. The class began chanting, "GLITTER! GLITTER!"

I slowly sat back down.

Rosaline leaned in, adjusting her sunglasses.

"Rough first mission, Agent Harold."

"Can I resign?"

"Never. You were chosen by destiny."

A water balloon hit the blackboard.

I closed the folder.

I'd been rep for six minutes.

And I was already planning my impeachment.