I should've turned around right then. Faked a stomach ache. Told them I had a deadly allergy to cringe.
But no.
I followed them anyway.
The Drama Club room was located in one of Velcrest's older halls—the kind with creaky floors, weird acoustics, and the lingering smell of ambition. Posters of past productions lined the hallway: Othello, Macbeth, Cats... but Only the Weird Parts.
We stepped inside.
It was like walking into an explosion of scarves.
Scarves on the walls. Scarves on the chairs. Scarves hanging from the ceiling for no reason. And in the middle of it all, a boy with too much eyeliner and the confident posture of someone who had never once been told "no."
"Ah!" he declared, spinning dramatically to face us. "New souls!"
He snapped his fingers.
Instantly, four other drama kids popped out from behind various props and curtains like overcaffeinated jack-in-the-boxes.
"Oh no," I muttered.
