A rare occurrence took place, both the phone alarm and alarm clock fired off at the same time. Ghance turned them both off and rose with high hopes; it was his time to change his world. But these things took time. He had to plan carefully. Ghance went downstairs after caring for his hygienics and fixed himself boneless chicken and waffles with syrup, and a drink of sweet tea- the only breakfast meal fit for a genius.
He fixed his mother some grits and carried it to her room. “Morning mother.” Ghance said in monotone. She continued with her deathly immobile stare at her TV. She tried to speak through her exhales and weezing. “H-hi th-there child.” Ghance moved with shameful steps and fed her spoonfuls of despair. He cleaned her up and left, holding tears caused by his constant burning question towards her. “Mother, the aid will be here in a few minutes to care for you.” Why did you you do this to yourself?
Ghance went back upstairs to prepare his school supplies. While searching around, under his deep purple and gold marble mattress that made him feel like the King of Cosmos, he recalled the boxes his father sent to him. He wondered which of these, if any, would be useful to his plan.

“Ghance!” He turned around quickly to the loud children behind him. “Fight hard! Stay strong! We are counting on you!” Those words struck his young heart. Although he had been determined to win, knowing they wanted him to win- needed him to win, his determination was made an amount ineffable.

That's the memory that resurfaces any time he doubts his motives. “Thank you all, and I will. I will find a way.”

He drove himself to the tall school building that would become his blank canvas. The way the campus is set up, he had to drive all the way around the building to get to student parking. As he slowly communed around the summer-idle building, he relived many of the atrocious criminal acts that we done here. These villains could not stick to simple spray painting and chipping off desks. The roaches were netherly inclined to scare the student body with artificial but lifelike gunshots, erasing entire columns of parking lines, poisoning teachers before tests, and, worst of all, defiling the school flag.
After shaking himself out of his trauma, he took his bag and went inside. Walking toward his first period class, through the hallways he is reunited with many old faces. He waves and nods to the people who are two steps away from him, yet much further down his ticker’s hallway. As he made it to his class and walked in the doorway, he nearly abut with the one spiral in the midst of all the shapes of evil. “Ghance?” They smiled at each other. “It’s good to see you again, Kline.” They stared at each other for a while, then mutually broke the gaze and when their separate ways.
They had not seen each other again until the last class of the day- until their favorite class. Until then Ghance moved with indifference to the syllabi and introductions and icebreakers while thinking of his plan and laughing at the occasional weeaboo yelling “nani?”.
At the end of the day, Ghance gave his regards to Kline and her mother as they left, and decided to go the bathroom. Nearly as close as he and Kline had been was the door flying violently open complemented by a scurry. As the door closed, Ghance saw the damage that was done. The ignoramuses unscrewed a wall from the bathroom stall, and left the large remains on the floor. But what Ghance initially saw as a violent, near death experience was now seen as the revelatory door of opportunity. He figured out a start for his plan. At the same time, he heard the cries of people down the hall. Rushing back to see, before him in the midst of the crowd was a locker regurgitating some form of slime onto the floor. No one had received their lockers nor the combinations. Ghance guessed they must have planned this since last year. “It seems my enemies have proven themselves to be consistently and self-indicatively intrepid and formulative.” He began to say to himself. “It seems my work will not only be necessary, but also entertaining.” Ghance was pleased at his expected battle of wits.
Ghance read the note that was covering the boxed technology. “I used these when I worked at a clothing store to spy on women my age changing. Of course I could easily have talked to them but this scandal was more exciting! I hope they provide some use to you, my son.” The words were followed by a winking smile. “Thank you, these will definitely work. But for a much better purpose.” Ghance wrapped them up in preparation for the next day of school.

Ghance came into school and set up his trap as soon as he could- the middle of first period- waiting for the next crime in the chosen location. In second period, his phone gave him the notification of a present criminal. It worked.
He knew there was still one more thing he would need in order for his plan to take place. But third period was the key. The teacher of keyboarding, Ms. Peltidan, knew Ghance since middle school. She was one of the teachers who moved up with her students. Ghance wondered if she ever regretted coming to this excuse for an educational environment. Regardless, she had administrative rights over the school. That means she has access to all the students’ passwords. Beneficial to Ghance was the fact that their relationship prevented him from needing to use some special method of gaining access to them. All he had to do is wait.
“Alright y’all. Y’all know I want to get this done early. Everyone else gonna be changin’ their passwords next week, but y’all got me for a teach’ so we strive to be ahead.” She continued talking to the indifferent class. She was done when she realized no one was responding except the usual few. She slammed on the table and yelled at the now alert children. “I’m calling out names, come up and type in your password!” Norice-Ang was, strangely, the third name on the alphabetized list for the class of 25. Ghance went up to type his password while asking his superior, “So what’s Keyboarding class all about?” It was simple yet inquiring enough to keep a conversation long enough to watch other students type in their passwords. He just needed one. The easiest one to remember, kayla-smith@wous.org- pow092, was going to be Ghance’s choice for his plan’s debut.
The next day, everyone at school- that being students, teachers, or janitors- we shocked while looking at their phones or laptops. Even the memelords of the school were doing their part on spreading the word. Last night, Kayla Smith sent the entire school a video of football player Jeremiah Baeton setting a bathroom trash can on fire using a large stack of paper towels, hand sanitizer, and a lighter. But what’s even more mysterious is that, at the bottom of the email, a disclaimer stated that Kayla was not the true sender of the email, and that future displays of the law-transgressing acts of many students would be displayed accordingly. Jeremiah was quickly sent to face the punishment for his crime. Surely Ghance was just as much surprised as the other students, as he attempted to show...

“So what are we going to do about this?” The principal asked to the other administrators over the phone. “The person who sent the email undoubtedly is breaking school code, no matter what may come out of it.” The adults continued talking briefly and postponed their decision making until they could find more facts. “Mother,” the young senior asked started from the nearby table, “I am going to help you guys get to the bottom of this.” The mother smiled with pride. “Thank you, my daughter, but you need to focus on school. You cannot endanger your final year.” “I’ll...I can at least listen out for anything. I’ll report everything I find to you or one of the other administrators!” “Just do not allow it to interfere with your academics and leadership.” The younger tightened her fist. “Thank you, mother. I will do my best.” Kline then proceeded to her room.