Some people study. Some people pray. Me? I plan.
And if anyone at St. Agatha's still thought I was here to "reform," they clearly missed the glitter explosion in the east wing.
It was the kind of prank you dream of. Strategic, symbolic, sparkling. Operation Glitter Doom, as I proudly titled it in my notebook of revenge (yes, it exists), was a masterpiece. Target: Bianca Moore. Motivation: the girl ruined my sketchbook Execution: flawless.
The bell rang, lockers clicked open all around me, and then — boom.
From across the hallway came a shriek so sharp it sliced through the sleepy Friday morning atmosphere.
Bianca stood in the middle of the corridor, completely coated in pink glitter, feathers, and the shrill chorus of "I'm Too Pretty to Be Petty" playing from somewhere in her locker. Her face looked like it had been bedazzled by a rabid unicorn.
"Oh my God," someone gasped. Then the laughter erupted.
Phoenix was practically wheezing beside me. "You didn't."
"Oh, I absolutely did," I whispered, deadpan.
Behind us, Jade bit back a smile, eyes wide with a mix of horror and awe. "She's going to come for you."
"I hope she does." I crossed my arms. "That was just the opening act."
Bianca's shrieking didn't stop. If anything, it got louder. She flailed like the feathers were live pigeons and kicked her glittery bag down the hall like it had betrayed her.
Sister Joan appeared seconds later, her eyes narrowing at the mess like she was about to perform an exorcism. I watched her lips move into a tight prayer before she addressed the chaos.
"Miss Moore," she said sternly, "what on earth happened?"
"Someone sabotaged my locker!" Bianca shouted. "Look at me!"
Sister Joan gave her a long, silent once-over. "Yes… I see."
"I want whoever did this expelled!"
I turned and casually dusted invisible glitter from my blazer. "Yikes. That must suck."
Phoenix gave me a side glance. "You're really proud of yourself, aren't you?"
"I have no idea what you mean," I replied innocently.
"You know she's going to retaliate, right?"
"Oh, I'm counting on it."
---
Later, in detention, Sister Camille looked especially twitchy. She had a tiny broom and a dustpan, and I had the distinct feeling she'd been volunteered to clean up the glitter apocalypse against her will.
"I swear to the saints, this school is cursed," she muttered, sweeping glitter off her desk.
I sat in the corner with Phoenix and Jade, trying not to laugh every time the broom squeaked.
"Why do I feel like this isn't over?" Jade muttered.
"Because it's not," I said.
Phoenix leaned closer. "So what happens next in this… war?"
I grinned. "I let her try something. Then I destroy her soul."
Jade shot me a look. "Dark."
Phoenix laughed. "Effective."
---
Turns out Bianca is not as clever as she thinks.
Her idea of revenge was slipping hot sauce into my water bottle during lunch.
Rookie move.
I caught her red-handed, mostly because she wasn't even subtle about it. She looked over her shoulder ten times and bumped into two nuns. Then she sprinted away like she'd just planted a bomb. Amateur hour.
I didn't drink it. I gave it to Sister Camille "by accident." She spat it out and cried for ten minutes.
Bianca earned herself another week of detention, and I earned a gold star in my private book of petty justice.
But I wasn't done.
---
The real crown jewel of Operation Glitter Doom was still to come. The school talent show was just around the corner, and Bianca—predictably—was performing a solo.
It was a syrupy, ego-driven number she claimed was "an ode to inner beauty." The rehearsal made my ears bleed.
So, I made a few edits.
It took weeks of planning. I bribed the A/V guy with a bag of sour candy and two sketch commissions. I switched the track she submitted with one I recorded myself—same melody, different lyrics.
Instead of singing about her "radiance," the new lyrics exposed every horrible rumor she'd ever started. Petty? Yes. But accurate.
The night of the show, the whole school sat packed into the dusty chapel auditorium. Bianca stepped onto the stage like she was about to accept a Grammy.
Then the track started.
At first, the beat played normally. She smiled.
Then… the lyrics hit.
"I talk about kindness, but I'm cruel on the low… I whisper your secrets, then put on a show…"
Bianca's smile froze.
People started whispering.
Jade gasped. Phoenix choked on his gum.
Sister Joan's hand hovered dramatically over her chest like she'd just been stabbed by sin itself.
Bianca, to her credit, kept singing for another ten seconds—then dropped the mic and ran offstage, face burning.
"Oops," I whispered.
Phoenix looked at me, mouth open. "You're literally a menace."
Jade just shook her head. "This is war."
---
Of course, I got called in the next morning.
Sister Joan folded her hands like a villain. "Aria."
"Yes, Sister?"
"I trust you know why you're here."
"Was it… the glitter?"
She stared at me, unimpressed.
"I had nothing to do with that track switch," I said, smiling too wide. "Unless someone has proof."
She leaned forward. "You remind me of someone I once expelled."
"Wow," I said. "What a legacy."
She sighed heavily, muttered a gospel verse under her breath, and handed me a mop. "You will be deep cleaning the art room for the next two weeks."
"Can I play music while I work?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Only if it's gospel."
---
Back in the dorm, I found Jade sitting on her bed, arms crossed.
"So," she said.
"So?" I echoed, grabbing a cookie from the shared stash.
She glared. "You know, I used to think you were just reckless. But now I think you're actually dangerous."
"Why, because I exposed a fake mean girl during a school event?"
"Because you're getting Phoenix wrapped up in it."
I paused mid-bite. "What?"
She stood, her jaw clenched. "He's not like you, Aria. He's… decent. You're pulling him into your chaos and you don't even care."
I stared at her, caught off-guard.
"You don't own him, Jade," I said quietly.
Her face flushed. "That's not what I—"
"You're mad because we're close. Admit it."
She didn't reply.
"Look, I don't make friends easily. Phoenix... gets me. Maybe more than anyone here. If that bothers you, maybe talk to him about it instead of blaming me."
The tension hung heavy.
Then she walked out.
I sank onto my bed, suddenly exhausted.
---
That night, Phoenix snuck into the art room while I cleaned.
"Want help?" he offered.
I looked at the mop, then at him. "Sure. I'll supervise while you mop."
He grinned, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work.
For ten minutes, we didn't talk. Just worked in companionable silence, the kind that feels comfortable even with gospel music humming from an old speaker.
Then he said, "You know Jade likes me, right?"
I didn't look up. "Yeah."
"She's not subtle."
"No, she really isn't."
He mopped in slow circles. "It's… complicated."
I snorted. "Isn't it always?"
Then he stopped and leaned on the handle. "But you make it easier."
I froze.
He glanced at me, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Everything's louder here. The rules, the eyes, the guilt. But when I'm around you, it feels like I can just… breathe."
My heart did a weird flip-flop thing.
"That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me here," I whispered.
He grinned. "You're welcome. Now pass the mop."
I did—but not before brushing his hand with mine.
---
Let's get one thing straight. I didn't come to this school looking for friends. Or forgiveness. Or whatever this was building between me and Phoenix.
But something was happening, and for once, I wasn't afraid of it.
Just… curious.
Bianca was still plotting. Sister Joan was probably praying for my soul. Jade wasn't talking to me.
And yet, for the first time since I arrived, I didn't feel alone.
Just ready.
Ready for whatever came next.
Because Aria Wren doesn't back down.
Especially not from glitter wars, gospel warnings, or slow-burning feelings that might actually mean something.
Bring it on.