Senior Project

To fellow students, Davy was just a smart, quiet kid who hid inside an oversized hoodie, working on project research long before topic options had even been presented. Since high stress at home was a daily experience, studying how anxiety affects teens was naturally the chosen subject. Up front, Mr. Williams, a tired homeroom teacher, squeaked white chalk against the blackboard slate, writing down key points to help the upcoming graduates with their presentations.

Davy sat up with clear posture and steady confidence. Attention was drawn to the inseparable high school sweethearts who had been together since kindergarten—the couple that won homecoming, prom king, and queen every year. But today, something was off: Chloe pushed Jordan's hand away as he reached for hers.

Jordan froze. A muscle tightened in his jaw before he quickly threw a defensive glance around the room to see if anyone had noticed Chloe's reaction. Davy's eyes instantly dropped, pen already moving across the page of a worn notebook. Hidden beneath a generic biology folder, the handwritten log read:

Subject A (Chloe): Demonstrating avoidant tactile behavior. Repetitive micro-movements detected—spinning ring, shallow respiration. Posture rigid.

Subject B (Jordan): Immediate hyper-vigilance post-rejection. Jaw clenching (possible teeth grinding/bruxism). Rapid environmental scanning to maintain perceived social status.

Conclusion: The public baseline is a mask. High probability of acute interpersonal stress.

Davy's observation was interrupted by the teacher asking the class for more helpful presentation tips.

"Pacing, Mr. Williams," Davy offered calmly. "If a speaker talks too fast, the audience misses the main points, but if they go too slow, people lose interest. Finding a natural rhythm keeps everyone listening."

Mr. Williams nodded, the chalk scratching against the board as he added Pacing / Natural Rhythm to the bottom of the list. "Exactly. Good observation, Davy."

As he turned back to the lesson, Davy took a quiet breath, waiting for the eyes in the room to drift away before carefully sliding the folder back just enough to see the page underneath. Up front, Jordan was still staring rigidly ahead, but Chloe's hand had stopped spinning her ring. Instead, she was looking down at her desk with a blank, hollow stare.

The sudden ring of the bell, the rustle of backpacks, sliding chairs, and annoyed sighs made Mr. Williams yell over the noise, "Everyone have a great day, and don't forget to review the rubric by Friday!"

Davy didn't rush like everyone else, but slowly closed folders, slid them into a backpack, and waited for the classroom to clear. In a crowded hallway, staying invisible was easy—running into someone by mistake wasn't. Jordan held the door with a forced smile for those leaving, but Chloe never looked up as she exited.

Davy blended seamlessly into the chaotic hall of pajama pants and hoodies, trailing the couple at a safe distance. Up ahead, Chloe was taking two steps at a time when she suddenly lost her balance. An iPad, lip balm, and a Samsung Galaxy went clattering across the shiny, hard tile floor. Gasping, Chloe scrambled to recover her belongings before anyone could step on them.

Davy swooped in, grabbing the iPad, ChapStick, and phone before they could slide any further.

"Thanks," Chloe muttered in an unsteady tone.

While retrieving the items, a folded index card slipped out of Chloe's white jacket pocket, landing right on Davy's sneakers. A quick glance revealed a grid of handwritten dates, times, and student names. Chloe snatched the paper away instantly. "Mind your own business!" she snapped, running up the stairs.

Davy stood on the landing for a second, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief, watching Chloe's shadowy figure disappear around the corner before letting out a small, quiet scoff. "You're welcome, weirdo."

Spinning on one shoe, Davy hastily turned toward the next class to avoid getting yet another tardy slip. But despite other students scattering in every direction, Principal Miller called out from down the hall: "Davy! This is the third time this week you've been wandering after the bell. My office. Now."

Miller led the way past the secretary's desk and into her inner office, shutting the door behind them and gesturing for Davy to take a seat. Her expression was serious, but her eyes held a steady, understanding focus.

"It's not like you to be this unorganized," Miller said softly. "How are things at the house?"

Davy sat back. "Well, you know all the pressure my family is under right now, so nothing new there. Just got to keep on pushing."

Principal Miller gave an understanding nod, offering support anytime if things got too heavy. She leaned against her desk, shifting right back to business. "Now—what was happening out in the hallway? Why were you trailing Chloe when you're supposed to be focusing on your classes?"

Davy reluctantly admitted that Chloe was acting strange earlier, but held back details.

"Acting strange isn't a reason to be late, Davy," Miller reminded firmly. "If Chloe or Jordan are in any kind of trouble, I need to know about it."

Davy maintained that the vibe was just off, but wasn't willing to go any further. Miller explained that it was her job to protect the students, but realizing Davy wouldn't say more, she dismissed Davy back to class.

Down the hall, Jordan had just ducked into the guidance counselor annex. Davy checked back toward the main office to ensure the coast was clear before quietly trailing him. Through the narrow glass paneling, Davy watched Jordan sit down in Mr. Thomas's plush chair as if he'd done it a hundred times before.

Text messages from Chloe were coming in like a flood on his phone, completely unread. Jordan was so nervous his breathing grew ragged, his hands trembling uncontrollably. On the desktop monitor, a restricted database of official student transcripts flashed. Jordan highlighted a row of popular student names and clicked REVERT TO ORIGINAL.

The PC tower light flickered steadily, casting a faint glow across Jordan's pale face as he stared at the screen prompt:

ALERT: Reverting 14 transcript entries will restore failing marks. Proceed? (Y/N)

At the exact moment his shaking finger clicked Y, Chloe's voice cut right through the room. "What do you think you're doing, Jordan?!"

She stood in the doorway with her arms folded over her designer sweater, her face full of cold entitlement.

"I... I can't do this anymore!" Jordan choked out, breaking down. "I couldn't finish the last three on my list. If I go to Miller, who do you think she's going to believe? Miss Perfect who can do no wrong, or the guidance aide who had access to all of Mr. Thomas's login info?!"

Chloe sneered in utter disgust, turning on her heel and walking out, leaving Jordan sobbing into his palms. Outside the glass, Davy's pen flew across the notebook, logging every word.

Checking a smartwatch, Davy knew study hall was fine to miss, but missing the next class—Chemistry—would definitely trigger a call home. Davy rushed down the hall to avoid getting stuck with an unwanted lab partner.

Ray Ives, the school's star sprinter, slid through the doorway just before the tardy bell rang, ducking in right in front of Davy.

"Welcome, everyone," Ms. Simmons announced. "Since we covered the heavy theory yesterday, today we get to the fun part: real experiments."

Davy and lab partner Sheila took their usual seats near the front while Chloe sat at the bench directly behind them. Ms. Simmons gestured toward the lab stations arranged with glassware and burner stands. "You'll be working in pairs to observe exothermic reactions. Remember—safety goggles on, and record every single temperature spike."

As the room dissolved into the clatter of glass and chatter, Davy pulled oversized safety goggles on, keeping the slate-grey hood low. Beside Davy, Sheila was already busy organizing test tubes. But Davy’s focus wasn't the chemical reaction on their table—it was the reflection in the dark glass cabinet door across the aisle.

Reflected in the glass, Ray Ives slouched onto the stool next to Chloe, his leg bouncing in a rapid, nervous twitch.

"Did it go through?" Ray whispered, leaning in so close his forehead nearly touched Chloe's shoulder. "My mom checked the portal this morning, but my GPA was still a 1.9. If it's not a 2.5 by 3:00 PM, Coach pulls me from the regional meet!"

Chloe casually adjusted her goggles without looking at him. "It takes time to update, Ray. And quality work isn't free. Do you have what we talked about?"

Davy carefully adjusted a tall glass beaker on the lab stand, angling a smartphone's dark screen right behind it. The camera lens was aimed precisely through the gap between Sheila's shoulder and the chemical storage rack.

Under the wooden lip of the lab bench, Ray reached into his gym bag and pulled out a thick white envelope, sliding it across the table. Chloe’s hand swooped down like a hawk, snagging the cash and slipping it seamlessly into her jacket pocket without missing a beat.

"Check the portal at 12:30," Chloe said smoothly, striking a match to light her Bunsen burner. "It’ll show a 2.8. Now light your burner before Simmons looks over here."

Inside an oversized hoodie pocket, Davy’s thumb tapped the smartphone screen, stopping the high-definition video recording.

By lunchtime, the tension in the building was thick enough to cut with a knife. The cafeteria was a wall of clattering trays and shouting teenagers. Davy sat at a small, isolated table near the recycling bins, slowly stirring a carton of lukewarm chocolate milk.

Jordan sat completely alone at a middle table, staring down at an untouched slice of pizza. He looked gray, his fingers twitching against his knees, completely drained of energy.

Chloe strutted past his table carrying a pristine salad tray, not saying a word. As she passed, her foot lightly kicked a heavy brown paper lunch bag that had been left under an empty chair. The bag clinked with the heavy weight of rolled cash—the daily collections from half a dozen desperate seniors. Without breaking stride, Chloe hooked the handles with her shoe, slid it under her own table, and scooped it up. Jordan watched in silent disbelief before staring back down at his tray.

Suddenly, the cafeteria double doors swung open. Principal Miller walked in alongside a bewildered Mr. Thomas.

Chloe didn't panic. Assuming it was routine lunch monitoring, she put on a polite smile and leaned toward Jordan. "Sit up. Smile. Look normal," she whispered through gritted teeth.

Mr. Thomas rubbed the back of his neck, visibly stressed. "I don't get it, Principal Miller. My administrative portal flagged fourteen unauthorized transcript overrides right before lunch. Jordan, did you leave my terminal logged in?"

Jordan's lip trembled, but no words came out.

"Of course we'll help figure it out, Principal Miller," Chloe said smoothly, slinging her purse over her shoulder and casually gripping the heavy bag of cash. "I'm sure it's just a computer glitch."

"Follow me to my office, please," Principal Miller said quietly.

They walked down the quiet administrative hallway away from the cafeteria chatter. As Miller opened her office door, tears welled in her eyes. "Why? You both had such amazing dreams," her voice cracked.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Principal Miller," Chloe began smoothly. "If this is about some glitch in Mr. Thomas’s account—"

Her lie was cut off before she could finish. Principal Miller turned her laptop screen toward them.

Displayed in stark, undeniable detail were digital audio logs, timestamped system entry records, and documented complaints from multiple students. Names flashed across the monitor—a dozen seniors who had paid thousands for grade alterations over the last few months, including Ray Ives's urgent cash payment from Chemistry class less than an hour ago.

Chloe’s rehearsed charm dissolved instantly. Panic set in as Mr. Thomas stared at her in total betrayal.

"Jordan forced me!" Chloe shrieked, backing against the wall and pointing a shaking finger at him. "He had Mr. Thomas's login! He did the overrides! He made me hold the cash!"

Jordan buried his face in his hands, weeping silently in his chair, too crushed by guilt to even defend himself.

Two plainclothes detectives stepped out from the inner office. "Chloe Vance, Jordan Blake, you are both under arrest for computer fraud, extortion, and bribery," one officer announced, pulling steel handcuffs from his belt as Chloe began screaming for her father's lawyer.

Meanwhile, down the hall, Davy slipped into the quiet peace of the empty girls' bathroom.

Standing in front of the wide mirror, she finally pulled back her slate-grey hood and unpinned her neck-length hair, letting the dark waves fall around her shoulders. The slouching teenager posture vanished, replaced by the tall, rigid stance of a seasoned officer.

Reaching into her sweatshirt pocket, she pulled out a bi-fold leather wallet and flipped it open. On one side sat a polished gold shield stamped with the state seal; on the other was her laminated photo credential:

STATE DIVISION OF CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION

INVESTIGATOR DAVINA SMEEW

BADGE NO. 4785

She looked at her reflection in the glass—no longer an undercover high schooler, but a 27 year-old mother and lead investigator who had just closed her case.

Pulling out her phone, her thumbs moved quickly across the screen:

Operation closed. Suspects in custody. Heading home soon to make dinner for the boys.

Investigator Davina Smeew zipped up her jacket over her tactical vest, tucked her credentials safely inside her pocket, and walked out into the hallway. Her job here was done.