Epilogue: The Real Plot Twist

“I’m impressed—this is your best score for the semester.”

On the last day of school, I’d gone to visit Mr. Fisher. We hadn’t talked as much after my episode at school, but he’d kept a close eye on my grades and my well-being, even if he tried to be subtle about it. I’d taken my history exam on Monday, but since he’d been grading half the exams, I figured that he’d call dibs on mine and wanted to take psychic damage sooner rather than later.

To my surprise, though, I’d gotten a solid 86—thank god, my cramming wasn’t for nothing.

No, who am I kidding, thank ME! I did that!

“Thank you. I’m glad we had you as a teacher’s assistant for the year.” I couldn’t stop the smile on my face. Despite all his nagging, I appreciated all he did for us. Or, no, for my lazy ass. “By the way—I decided on what kind of college program I’m looking for. I know you were interested, so...”

“Ah,” he sat up, “Yes, I’d like to know. If I never come back to this school again, I’d at least like to know where I may expect to see your name.”

“Hah, right…” I rubbed the back of my neck. Damn it, I needed to finish a sentence sometime soon. “I actually was thinking about some kind of writing program. I’m mostly interested in writing books, or articles, but I’m thinking still. Maybe I’ll suddenly love scriptwriting, who knows?”

His face went blank—but the small smile that crossed his face after a bit was all I needed. “How interesting. I never took you for a writer, but the more I think about it, you’ve always been interested in the narrative of history.”

“Huh?”

“I picked it up from your essays,” he said, flipping through the large pile of finals booklets on his desk, next to his laptop. “You know, I used to write sometimes myself. I kept it as a hobby after teaching won the war, but I can see in you a budding author waiting to burst free.”

“You’re making it sound like I have a parasite,” I said and rolled my eyes. “Anyways, I just wanted you to know. I need to get home.”

“Of course,” he said with a hint of amusement. He turned back to his computer, which was filled with documents and another window I couldn’t get a good look at. “Good luck, Mr. Castro.”

“…Thanks.” I turned to leave, but before I’d gone out the door, something made me stop. An instinct…or was it a calling?

No. A familiar sight.

I turned back around. The one window on his computer I couldn’t get a look at was maximized across the screen, revealing a program I knew all too well.

Eclipse. His username was printed in multiple places across the screen, from the messages he was sending to the username in the corner: rainDrips.

rainDrips. And—wasn’t that our RP server?

“You’re rainDrips!?” My stupid, stupid mouth was ten miles ahead of me. It hadn’t even been a week since my impulsive love confession to dropsgum, and somehow I’d managed to one-up the amount of embarrassment I felt then by finding out my history teacher’s assistant was a mod for my roleplay!

Mr. Fisher’s jaw fell open. He grew pale, and even from a distance, I knew he was starting to sweat bullets.

“…I. I….I….” he stammered, glancing between me, the laptop, me, and…

No, I had to take this chance! My feet decided my fate, and I bolted out the door at top speed. I needed to get out, out, as far from this room as possible.

“I should’ve keep moderating that OC hate blog!!!”

“Wait—are you TowersFall? dropsgum? I can explain, just stop screaming about it in the middle of the schoolyard! There’s still students here!”