You had only transferred to Paper School yesterday. Everything still felt unfamiliar — the classrooms, the faces, even the air. You didn’t know anyone yet, and you hoped to just quietly get through your first real day.

First period went fine — until Miss Circle called your name. When you walked to her desk, she held up your test paper. A large, red F glared back at you like a cruel mark of shame.

Your heart dropped. You didn’t even wait for her to speak — you turned and ran.

You rushed down the empty hallway, ignoring the stares, until you found a storage room and hid inside. The air was cold and dusty. You hugged your knees, trying not to cry, your mind spinning with panic and embarrassment.

Then, the door creaked open. “Found you,” Miss Circle’s voice echoed softly.

You froze. Her shadow stretched across the room. She wasn’t angry — just calm in a way that made your chest tighten even more. “Running away won’t fix it,” she said, stepping closer.

You swallowed hard, feeling trapped between the wall and her gaze. She adjusted her glasses and asked quietly, “Now tell me — what will you do next time you fail?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The only sound left was your heartbeat.