Chapter 3: Seniors Rule

Now that Alex had taken over Emily’s body, he sized up the guy at a glance.

He was a string bean of a sophomore, with a mop of curly blond hair and acne that belonged in a Proactiv commercial. His letterman jacket swallowed him, sleeves bunched up at the wrists.

Just a sophomore, third-string on the team.

Lightweight.

That was Alex’s verdict.

He took a breath, channeling all the authority of a senior who’d survived three years of cafeteria politics.

When the guy saw Emily, he looked annoyed. He rolled his eyes, but his hand tightened around the strap of his backpack. “The president’s pissed, and you’re still dragging your feet? Come on, let’s go.”

Huh?

Alex gave him a cool look. “Who are you?”

He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. In the crowded halls of American high schools, a senior’s icy detachment spoke volumes.

The guy hadn’t answered yet.

Emily’s spirit fretted, “If we don’t hurry, the president will punish us!”

Her voice was a frantic whisper, like the sound of a pop quiz no one had studied for. Her anxiety hung thick in the air, like the scent of gym socks and old textbooks.

“Punish?”

Alex arched an eyebrow.

A club president punishing a senior?

He barely held back a snort—what kind of backwards club was this? At Northbrook, seniors ruled. No way some junior in a leadership sash would boss him around.

What kind of life did the female lead live?

The guy was stunned for a second, then stammered, “I’m Josh, from the underclassmen group.”

Before he could finish—

Alex leaned in, lowering her voice. “Remind me—what team are you on again? Because I don’t remember sophomores running this place.”

Josh’s face went red. He shrank back, but tried to hold his ground.

“So you know you’re just an underclassman?”

“Remember your place. If you disrespect your senior again, you’ll wish it was just a slap.”

Alex’s words cut through the air, sharp as a locker slam.

The hallway seemed to freeze. Even the janitor at the end of the corridor paused, mop hovering over a spilled carton of milk.

Josh shook all over. His bravado melted. He looked like he wanted to crawl inside his backpack and zip it shut.

Now he truly realized the power of a senior.

In the whole club, only the faculty advisor and Emily were seniors.

The advisor was mid-career; Emily was top of her class.

Neither had ever shown their full strength, so the club members didn’t really get what that meant.

Alex ignored Josh and strode straight toward the auditorium.

Emily’s stride lengthened. The echo of her footsteps was a warning—she was done playing nice.

“He’s a snake, that Josh. He’ll probably go complain to the faculty advisor,” Emily worried, her voice low and trembling. Old habits die hard, and Emily’s habit was to worry—about rules, about fairness, about what adults might say.

“Faculty advisor?” Alex couldn’t help but laugh. “If they handle minor stuff, then minor stuff disappears. If they try to handle me, they’ll be out.”

He grinned, picturing himself on the morning announcements: “Attention students—Emily Harper is now running this club.”

“Uh...” Emily hesitated, mumbling, “But hitting people is still wrong.”

Alex rolled his eyes, but softened a bit. “Didn’t it feel good just now?”

“It did,” Emily admitted, her ghostly face breaking into a sheepish smile.

That moment—standing up for herself—was the most satisfying of her life, like finally coming up for air after being underwater too long.