Kam sits at the back, hoodie up, staring at a maths textbook he isn’t reading. The heat in his chest is low today. Not gone. Just humming. Manageable.
Taylor drops into the seat opposite him and slides a phone across the table, face down.
“Don’t react,” he says. “Watch.”
Kam looks at the phone, then at Taylor. Taylor just nods at it again. So Kam flips it over.
A TikTok plays. Shaky vertical footage filmed from across the street in the rain. The lens is streaked, the image grainy. An e?bike skids, sparks scraping across wet tarmac, and in the middle of a cloud of white mist stands a figure.
The caption reads: London servers crashing lol ??.
Four hundred views.
Leo leans in too close, whispering like he’s afraid the librarian might confiscate his voice. “That’s you. Bro, that is literally you. Look at the shoes.”
Kam shifts his elbow, creating a tiny gap between his sleeve and Leo’s. Safety first.
“It’s a smudge,” he says, pushing the phone back.
“It’s thermal discharge,” Leo insists. “The comments think it’s a gas leak.”
Taylor pockets the phone. “Valid theory. Could be a drain cover. Could be a vape. Could be a render glitch.”
“It’s me,” Kam says quietly.
Taylor shakes his head. “Nah. Resolution’s trash. You’re basically folklore. You’re fine.”
“If they map the location—” Leo starts.
“Leo,” Taylor cuts in. “You’re loading the map before you’ve picked a character. Relax. It’s content. People scroll past content.”
A librarian clears her throat from three tables away. All three boys freeze. She doesn’t even look at them—just taps a sign on the wall: NO PHONES.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Taylor nods, all exaggerated innocence.
The heat in Kam’s chest twitches, sharp, then settles. The video exists. That’s the problem.
“Delete it,” he says.
“Not my account,” Taylor replies. “Some guy called Drillz_00. If I DM him, that’s engagement. Engagement is oxygen.”
“We could report it for… terrorism?” Leo suggests.
Taylor stares at him. “You sold. That gets human eyes. Human eyes are bad.”
Kam closes his eyes and exhales, cooling the air around his face. “Boring is good.”
“Boring is invisible,” Taylor agrees.
---
Lunch is loud. The canteen is a war zone of shouting and cheap pizza. Kam eats fast, mechanically. He wants to be out. He wants a mat. Rules. Lines on the floor that mean something.
“Yo. Kam.”
He doesn’t look up. Marcus. Year Eleven. Rugby build. A smile like he’s already decided how this ends.
Marcus drops a heavy hand on Kam’s shoulder.
“Heard you got jumped yesterday.”
“Nah.”
“Kevin said police were on the High Road. Said some guy in a grey hoodie folded.”
“Wrong guy.”
Marcus squeezes—not hard, just enough to test. Kam feels the pressure and stays perfectly still, making sure the fabric of his hoodie doesn’t heat under the grip. Unnegotiated care.
“You sure? You’re quiet.”
“He’s tired,” Taylor says without looking up. “Lag.”
Marcus ignores him. He leans closer. “You gonna say something, or you just gonna sit there?”
Kam exhales, short and sharp, and looks up.
Behind Marcus, two Year Nines already have their phones out. Red recording dots blinking.
The heat spikes. Not fire—pressure. It wants to move.
Kam swallows it.
He stands.
Marcus flinches, then recovers, raising his hands in a mock boxing stance. “Go on then. MMA, yeah? Show us.”
If Kam hits him, it goes online.
If Kam slips, it goes online.
Marcus swings. Wide. Sloppy.
Kam steps in. He doesn’t strike. He frames—forearm to bicep, cloth on cloth, no skin contact. He kills the momentum before it’s born, keeping the heat contained in his sleeves.
Marcus stumbles.
Kam hooks a leg behind his knee and leans. Just weight. Dead weight.
Marcus hits the floor. Not a slam. A trip. Embarrassing.
Kam steps back. He doesn’t look at Marcus. He looks at the Year Nines filming.
“Boring.”
The phones hesitate. No blood. No impact. No moment. They lower.
“I slipped!” Marcus yells, scrambling up.
“Peak,” Taylor says to no one in particular.
A dinner lady shouts something about chairs and detention, but Kam is already moving.
---
Outside, the air is cold. The heat recedes, curling back into his stomach like it’s sulking.
Taylor catches up at the doors. Leo follows, pale.
“That was close,” Leo says. “You saw his bar fill, right?”
“He tripped,” Kam replies.
“He got read,” Taylor says. “Man downloaded a virus and bricked his own OS.”
“People saw,” Leo murmurs.
“People saw a man fall over,” Taylor counters. “Zero engagement.”
Kam nods once. “Gym later?”
“Can’t,” Taylor says. “Parents’ evening. I need to grind English XP or I’m banned.”
“Leo?”
“Yeah. I’ll come.”
“And don’t talk about the video.”
“I won’t.”
“And don’t say ‘thermal.’”
Leo raises a hand. “On my life.”
Kam walks toward the gate.
Behind him, Marcus watches. Quiet now. Thinking.
Somewhere, a counter ticks up.
Four hundred and twelve views.