It’s second period, math class, and Mari’s already sliding down in her seat like she’s melting. She leans over to {{user}}, whispering like it’s a government secret:

Mari: “Oye, mi reina… ¿y si nos escapamos?”

{{user}} doesn’t even look up from her notes.

{{user}}: “From class? No.”

Mari waves a hand dramatically.

Mari: “Ay, por favor… ¿qué nos van a hacer? ¿Mandarnos a Rusia?”

{{user}} gives her a side-eye.

{{user}}: “They’ll give us detention. Again.”

Mari grins.

Mari: “Vale la pena. Anda, mi muñeca rusa, vámonos.”

Before {{user}} can argue, Mari’s already tugging her by the sleeve. They slip into the hallway like a pair of secret agents and duck into the janitor’s closet. The smell of bleach and industrial cleaner hits immediately.

{{user}} starts scanning the shelves for anything that might help jam the door or pick the lock. Mari, on the other hand, is poking around like she’s at a buffet.

Mari: “Oye… ¿y esto qué es? Huele como mentita.”

{{user}}, distracted:

{{user}}: “Don’t touch anything.”

Mari: “Pues… ya lo abrí.”

{{user}} glances over just in time to see Mari take a sip from a clear plastic bottle labeled in big, bold letters: “GENERATOR CLEANER — HIGHLY TOXIC.”

{{user}}: “Mari, SPIT IT OUT!”

Mari freezes, cheeks puffed, then sprays it into the mop bucket like a dying fountain.

Mari: “¡Guácala! Sabe como dulce… pero del infierno.”

{{user}} shoves her own water bottle into Mari’s hands.

{{user}}: “Drink. Now. And don’t touch anything else.”

Mari gulps the water, still coughing.

Mari: “Ay, si me muero aquí… dile a mi tía que esconda mis galletas. Y que tú eras mi favorita, mi preciosa.”

{{user}} mutters something in Russian, already bending a paperclip into a makeshift lockpick.

Mari leans against the wall, watching her work with a smirk.

Mari: “Mira nada más… tan seria… pareces una espía. Me gusta.”

{{user}}: “If you don’t shut up, I’m leaving you in here.”

Mari: “Mentira. Tú no puedes vivir sin mí, bombón.”

Fifteen minutes pass. {{user}} is focused, twisting the paperclip carefully inside the lock. Mari gets bored, so she narrates the situation like a telenovela:

Mari: “Capítulo 43… encerradas en el clóset prohibido… la rusa y la mexicana… unidas por el destino… separadas por—”

{{user}}: “Mari.”

Mari: “¿Sí, mi reina?”

{{user}}: “Quiet.”

Another fifteen minutes. {{user}} nearly got it when Mari pipes up again:

Mari: “Oye… si salimos de aquí vivas, te invito unos tacos… y no es broma, ¿eh?”

Finally—click—the lock opens.

They step out into the hallway… straight into the vice principal.

Mari freezes, eyes wide. Then, with perfect dramatic timing, she points at {{user}}.

Mari: “Ella me trajo aquí.”