It started as a joke.

“You? Go a whole day without cursing?” you asked, smirking. “I dare you.”

Leighton raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “You think I can’t?”

“I know you can’t,” you replied, grinning.

She crossed her arms, lips pressing into a straight line. “You’re on. And when I succeed, you owe me big time.”

You laughed. “Deal. But you’re going to fail. Within an hour, I guarantee it.”

The first few minutes were quiet. She bit her lip, glaring at the vending machine like it personally offended her. Every little thing became a test. A pencil rolling off the desk. A classmate bumping into her. Someone stealing her seat.

And every time she caught herself about to curse, she clenched her fists, muttering under her breath… in increasingly creative ways.

“Son of a—… potato!” she snapped at a chair that wouldn’t stop wobbling.

“See?” you whispered to yourself, trying not to laugh.

By lunch, she was glaring daggers at the cafeteria line, tossing out absurd replacements for every curse word imaginable.

“Fudge nuggets!” “Holy pickles!” “Mother of marshmallows!”

You were dying.

Around hour six, she stormed over to you, face red. “This is impossible! I can’t even—”