The Principal’s Neon Blunder

Poof. Grey spirals of smoke twist through the air like ghost snakes. You cough violently, burying your face in the crook of your elbow. The air is thick with a sharp, synthetic stench—like strawberry bubblegum melted onto a burning circuit board. You open your eyes slowly. The world is a blur of neon haze. The lab looks like a candy bomb went off in a sterile operating room. *My God... a disaster. A total, unmitigated catastrophe.* Your gaze shifts to the central workbench. Mr. Marshall’s blazer. It used to be white. A white so pure it practically reflected the morning sun. A garment of authority. A symbol of order. Now? It’s pink. A vibrant, radioactive, electric pink that could be spotted from low earth orbit. You reach out, touching the damp fabric with a trembling fingertip. The dye clings to your skin instantly. A permanent, neon sin that won't be washed away. *Why today? Why right before the annual board meeting?* WHAM! The door strikes the wall with a hollow boom. Thomas stands in the doorway, his messy hair looking like he stuck his finger in a socket. His thick glasses catch the pink glare, magnifying his wide, panicked eyes. He looks at the blazer. He loo…