Amanda squeezes her hand once in response, not saying anything else as they walk together toward homeroom with the rest of the students moving through the hall around them.

Miss Lennox is already in the classroom when they arrive. She’s leaning back in her chair behind the desk with her feet propped up on the edge, a small boxed lunch sitting open beside a stack of papers she clearly hasn’t bothered grading yet.

She’s halfway through a cheese and ham sandwich when the girls walk in.

“Hey girls,” she says around the mouthful, lifting one hand in a casual wave while she chews. “What’s in the tupperware?”

Riley holds up the container she’s carrying.

“Leftover meat stew,” she says. Then she steps closer and sets it down on the desk in front of Miss Lennox. “We ate most of it already, but you can have the rest if you want.”

“It’s actually really good,” Amanda adds quickly, nodding like she needs to confirm it.

Miss Lennox glances down at the container for a moment, then shrugs and pulls it closer without much ceremony. She flips the lid open and peers inside, steam still faintly rising from the thick broth and vegetables.

Without bothering with a spoon, she dips the corner of her sandwich straight into it.

She takes a bite.

Her reaction isn’t the polite kind teachers usually fake when students offer them food that probably tastes terrible. Instead she pauses mid-chew, eyebrows lifting slightly while she processes it.

“This is good, girls,” she says after swallowing. Her eyes flick toward Riley. “You could be a really good chef one day.”

Amanda doesn’t object when Riley ends up getting the credit. She just leans against the desk beside her and shrugs a little.

She hates cooking anyway.

“If the veg had been too thick it would’ve ruined it,” Riley says, grabbing Amanda by the shoulder and tugging her a step closer to the desk. “My sous chef did a great job.”

Amanda snorts a little at that, clearly not expecting the credit but not pushing it away either.
Miss Lennox nods toward her with mild approval while she takes another bite of the sandwich she’s still dipping into the stew.

“That you did, dear.”

She wipes the corner of her mouth with a napkin and sets the container aside, glancing toward the classroom door as more students start filtering in from lunch.

“Alright,” she says, waving a hand lazily toward the rows of desks. “Go ahead and sit down.”

A few students are already settling into their seats while others drift in more slowly, the room gradually filling with the low hum of voices.

“Do whatever rituals you need to do,” Miss Lennox adds, leaning back in her chair again. “But be prepared.”

Riley and Amanda head toward their usual desks while the watch on Riley’s wrist catches the overhead light for a moment, the green glow steady as the room continues to fill around them.

The room fills steadily as students drift back from lunch, one by one at first and then in small groups until nearly every seat is taken. The scrape of chairs and quiet conversation gradually settles into something softer, the kind of background noise people make when they’re trying not to think about the same thing at the same time.

By the time the last few students arrive there are fifteen minutes left.

Nobody says that out loud. Everyone already knows.

Some of the kids bow their heads over clasped hands, whispering prayers so quietly you can barely hear them unless you’re sitting right beside them. Others pretend they don’t care at all, spinning fidget toys between their fingers or tapping pencils against their desks in uneven little rhythms that never quite line up.

A few students eat the rest of their lunches slowly, like stretching it out somehow makes the time pass faster.

Miss Lennox doesn’t interrupt any of it. She stays behind her desk with her boxed lunch, finishing the last of her sandwich and glancing occasionally at the clock above the door.

Riley sits in her seat beside Amanda with her hands folded together on the desk, watching the seconds tick away while the watch on her wrist glows its steady green.

It’s always tense.

Always the longest half hour of the week.

Riley eventually starts eating again, mostly out of boredom. She digs into her bag and pulls out the small packet of potato chips she packed that morning, tearing the top open and tipping a few into her palm.

She eats them slowly, one at a time, letting the salt sit on her tongue before crunching down. The noise feels louder than usual in the quiet room, but nobody complains because half the class is doing something similar just to fill the silence.

Ten minutes.

Riley wipes her fingers on a napkin and pulls out her phone, resting it on the edge of the desk while she scrolls. The Lottery forums are already lighting up with posts from people across the country, most of them wishing strangers good luck or telling everyone to stay calm if their watch changes.

Some people write long speeches about civic duty. Others just drop little messages and move on.

Riley types one herself.

She reuses the same dumb joke she always makes about her mom’s pancakes and how they might sweeten her meat if she’s the one who gets picked today. It takes about ten seconds before the replies start popping up underneath it.

A couple laughing emojis.

A few hearts.

Someone sends a thumbs-up.

And, of course, one person writes a long reply about how jokes like that are disrespectful to the Animals who already converted.

Riley snorts quietly and locks her phone.

Five minutes.

Now people start talking again, but it’s the quiet kind of conversation where nobody really says anything important. Riley leans toward Amanda and makes small talk about nothing in particular, whatever comes to mind first.

Amanda barely answers.

She never does around this point.

Riley notices the way her friend’s shoulders tense up and the way she rubs her hands together under the desk like she’s trying to warm them. Then the shivering starts, small at first, the kind you might miss if you weren’t sitting right next to her.

Amanda always shivers.

One minute.

Riley starts eating again before the minute is even halfway gone. At this point she isn’t bothering with the whole one-chip-at-a-time thing anymore. She reaches into the bag and pulls out small handfuls instead, shoving them into her mouth while she stares at the front of the classroom like it might somehow make the time move faster.

The salt burns slightly at the corners of her lips. Crumbs scatter across the desk and stick to her fingers, but she barely notices. Eating gives her something to do with her hands, something to focus on that isn’t the slow crawl of seconds on the clock above the door.

The room has gone very quiet.

Somewhere near the back someone’s pencil rolls off a desk and taps against the floor, but nobody bends down to pick it up.

Then the Lottery Bell rings.

The sound cuts through the room sharp and mechanical, the exact same tone the school uses for every class change except somehow it always feels different at this moment.

Riley’s hand freezes halfway inside the chip bag.

Her stomach lurches hard enough that it actually hurts.

She pulls her hand out slowly, crumbs clinging to her fingers while she turns her wrist just enough to see the face of the watch.

For a split second her brain refuses to process it.

Then the color registers.

It’s red.