Page 7

By the time lunch unfolded, I had successfully rewritten my letter five times.

And not just minor edits—I’m talking full-page deletions, aggressive rewording, and an existential crisis over whether "prestigious" was too strong of a word. Because, obviously, the fate of this entire operation hinged on whether or not I sounded too desperate.

The principal wasn’t stupid. She’d know if I was trying too hard. But I also couldn’t sound too casual, or she might not take us seriously. It was a delicate balance—like walking a tightrope over a pit of ‘why am I like this?’

Joy and Shun sat across from me in the cafeteria, watching me fumble with a pen.

"Clark," Joy called, resting her chin on her hand. "Are you seriously rewriting that letter again?"

"I just think it could be... tighter," I muttered, furiously scribbling.

"It’s a funding request, not a love confession," she said dryly.

"Maybe if you actually let us read it, we could help," Shun suggested, in that calm, reasonable tone that made me want to throw myself into a void. For a cheerleader, she was nothing like the cliche. If anything, she was the exact opposite; sweet, caring, and most of all optimistic.

I sighed, pressing my fingertips against my temples. "Fine. But be constructive, okay?"

I cleared my throat and began reading:

"Dear Principal Catherine,

I am writing to formally request the school’s support in Paramount High’s participation in the Nationwide High Schools Documentary Competition.

As you know, our institution has always fostered a culture of academic excellence, creativity, and innovation.

This competition presents an opportunity for our students to showcase their talents on a national stage and bring recognition to our esteemed school.

Our team, composed of myself, Joy Win, Shun Hara, and some wildlife club members, intends to create a documentary that captures the beauty, complexity, and ecological importance of our natural surroundings.

With Joy serving as the Wildlife Club Captain, Shun providing her organizational expertise, and myself handling research and production, we believe we have the necessary skills to produce a compelling and high-quality entry.

However, in order to execute this project effectively, we require institutional support.

This includes access to better filming equipment, potential transportation for location scouting, and—if possible—a small budget for necessary resources.

We strongly believe that with the right tools, our documentary has the potential to not only compete but to win.

We appreciate your time and consideration and would love the opportunity to further discuss how this endeavor could benefit our school. Thank you for your support.

Sincerely, Clark Alderman.”

Silence.

Joy blinked. "I mean... it's good."

Shun nodded. "It’s actually really solid."

I exhaled. "Okay, great. Great. No critiques?"

Joy tapped the table. "I mean... you could’ve thrown in a sob story for emotional impact. Something like, 'As a humble student with big dreams and zero gold to my name, I implore you, madame, to bestow upon us your divine financial blessing.'"

I groaned. "Yes, Joy, because the principal would definitely take that seriously."

Shun, ignoring us both, asked, "Are you sure you don’t want to mention why we need the money so badly?"

"As in, the part where we accidentally wrecked Ethan's million-dollar convertible and now I’m in a state of financial peril?" I deadpanned. "Yeah. No."

Shun shrugged. "Just saying. Transparency can be good."

Joy snorted. "Yes, Clark. Be transparent. Maybe even include a postscript: P.S. Also, this is a subtle cry for help. If you have any recommendations on how to un-destroy expensive vehicles, please advise."

I ignored them both, folded the letter with utter precision, and stuffed it into an envelope. "I’m handing it in before I lose my mind."

The principal’s office was one of those places where I only entered when I was being rewarded. That was before this morning. My stomach formed twists when I recalled.

The secretary barely glanced up. "Submission box is on the desk."

I nodded stiffly, dropped the envelope into the wooden box, and left before my anxiety could convince me to take it back and rewrite it again.

For the next few hours, I tried to pretend like I hadn’t just thrown my fate into administrative limbo.

But then.

Then, I heard it.

"Clark Alderman, please report to the principal’s office."

A hush fell over the class. Several heads turned toward me. My stomach plummeted straight into an abyss.

Joy, who was sitting at the desk beside mine, grinned like she was watching a reality show. "Ohhh. You’re so getting expelled."

I shot her a glare and grabbed my bag with shaky hands. "If I don’t make it back... tell my story."

Shun sighed. "You’ll be fine."

Would I, though? Would I really?

Because as I walked toward the principal’s office, all I could think was:

What if she saw through it? What if she knew?

What if, somehow, Principal Catherine already knew about the car?

And worse—what if she called Ethan?

I couldn't help the thoughts as I strode through the half-empty hallways.

The principal’s office smelled the same as usual but with an accentuated scent of whatever mystical tea centaurs drank to keep their patience in check. Principal Catherine was sitting behind her massive mahogany desk, idly flipping through a file—most likely my file.

Her equine tail flicked as she glanced up at me. “Clark Alderman.”

I swallowed. “Principal Catherine.”

She set the file down with a dramatic thud and gave me the kind of look that suggested she was already thinking of an elaborate lecture.

“Didn’t I just give you a warning this morning?” she asked, tilting her head.

I blinked. “Uh… yes?”

“And yet, here you are, requesting funding?” She leaned back, placing a hand over her heart as if deeply wounded. “Clark, do you know what this looks like?”

I clasped my hands in my most innocent ‘I’m a model student pose.’ “It looks like an ambitious student taking initiative for an educational project that would bring great honor to Paramount High?”

As far as my research had gone, Paramount High had never won this competition.

That was a good incentive to pin Principal Catherine down—we all know the damage hope can do.

But also, that could mean us losing too.

So, this was a two-way dip. But I wasn't just going to relax and let karma do her thing, I was going to do mine.

She snorted. “It looks like a student who just got a warning and thought, ‘Hey, you know what would be fun? Asking for school money immediately after.’”

…Okay, fair.

“Furthermore, we have already assigned another team to do this project,” she added.

Just then my stomach fell into a pit. “What?”

“There was another team about a week ago that is currently working on a documentary about marine life,” she elaborated, flicking her hooves as if it was no big deal.

“I'm sure the school can use another team. It can encourage healthy competition—a race to the medal,” I uttered, before staring at her eyes merely wet. I was one of her favorite students, that had to mean something to her, right?

She tapped her hooves on her desk and thought for a second. “Alright, impress me. Why should I approve this?”

I inhaled deeply, launching into my prepared speech.

“Principal, I am one of the top students in this school.”

“Obviously,” she muttered.

“I don’t break rules—”

She arched a brow.

“…usually,” I corrected. “And I’ve never asked for anything like this before. The Nationwide High Schools Documentary Competition is a prestigious event that could put Paramount High on the map for something other than just having the best sports team.”

She gasped dramatically. “Blasphemy. How dare you suggest we be known for something other than sports?”

I rolled my eyes. “Principal.”

She chuckled but motioned for me to continue.

“We have the skills to make a winning documentary,” I pressed on.

“Joy is the Wildlife Club Captain—she knows nature better than anyone. Shun is great at planning. And I am—” I exhaled.

“—a perfectionist, which means I will personally make sure this is the best documentary ever submitted. The other club members can offer their knowledge in one or two ways.”

She rubbed her chin. “Strong points. Strong points. I like it.”

Encouraged, I added, “All we need is some support. Equipment, transportation, maybe access to a few school resources. If we win, Paramount High gains national recognition.”

She nodded slowly. “Mmm. I do like the sound of national recognition.”

For a brief, glorious moment, I thought I had won.

Then she dropped the but .

“But.” She leaned forward. “There’s one problem.”

I tensed. “…What?”

She arched a brow. “Ethan.”

…Oh. His name came with a burnt rubber sensation, cuddling my gut.

“Ethan?” I repeated, pretending I didn’t know where this was going. “What about him?”

She gave me a deadpan stare. “Clark.”

I sighed. “Okay, yeah, he’s technically part of our group.”

Catherine shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

“Wait, what?”

She folded her arms. “Clark, I adore you. You are one of my best students. But Ethan?” She exhaled sharply. “A disaster. Detentions, suspensions, causing mayhem on school property— he once tried to barter his way out of an Alchemy test with a vial of dragon tears.”

“…Did it work?”

“No, but the teacher did cry.”

I rubbed my temples. “Okay. Look. I get it. Ethan is… Ethan.”

Catherine gave me an are you hearing yourself look.

“But!” I added quickly, “what if he isn’t part of the official school-funded team?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Explain.”

I sat up straighter. “What if the official documentary team is just me, Joy, Shun, and some other few wildlife club members? The school funds us, and we make the documentary as planned. If

Ethan comes along, it’s completely separate. No funding, no liability.”

She considered this. “…Meaning that if he does something ridiculous, I don’t have to explain it to the school board?”

“Exactly.”

She exhaled deeply, staring at me like she was both impressed and personally victimized by my logic. “You are dangerous, Alderman.”

I gave a modest shrug. “I try.”

A long silence stretched between us. Then, finally—

“Fine,” she said. “You have your funding.”

I nearly collapsed in relief.

“But,” she added, pointing a warning finger at me, “if Ethan so much as sneezes in a way that causes trouble, I’m shutting this down. Understood?”

“Crystal clear.”

She sighed dramatically. “Go. Get out of my office before I start regretting this.”

I was gone before she could change her mind.