“Hphfffffffff,” went the loudspeaker at 9:34 AM on Wednesday, February 9th, 2022. A young female voice says, “Oh, was that on? Well, today is February 9th. Have a Monday,” leaving a cloud of silence (and a smaller cloud of wasps who were nesting in the speakers) in every classroom. How awkward.

10:19 AM. 3rd period has ended and the gossip cycle has begun. The lame sophomores have flocked to Instagram. The lamer sophomores have gone to Discord. A consensus has yet to be reached. The meaning of the morning’s coded message is still a mystery.

11:48 AM. 5th period (the objectively worst lunch period) is starting. Some students have claimed that the grunt was a vignére cipher and are still desperately searching for the keyword. Some are trying to transcribe the hphfffffffff in invisible ink as a summoning ritual. For what? That’s what they aim to find out. Most are trapped in the auditorium, quietly gossiping and failing to eat.

1:00 PM. Nobody can stop talking about the announcement. It’s like we’re cursed. The SGO Store has closed, leaving a hastily written note  saying “stop asking us about the announcement. We don’t make them.” There is a group of a dozen or so students standing stock still outside of the door of 1W8.

1:10 PM. Two dozen. 1:20 PM. Five dozen. 1:24 PM. The group has started to bang on the doors. The deans are powerless. They cannot stop what has been started. 1:25 PM. The door has been broken down now. They’re flooding in, demanding answers in chanting unison. They are reminiscent of LAS Majors.

1:26 PM. The walls are bleeding fiberglass. The students have begun to eat the room while a girl screams, “I didn’t mean to start this! I just started holding the record button before I was ready to announce!”

1:30 PM. The room is consumed.

3:35 PM. Only a gaping hole in the Earth remains. The janitors will fix it tomorrow and the cycle will begin anew.