The room had been quiet for all of ten minutes. Just the steady scratching of pens and the occasional exaggerated sigh from Sarah.
Then—creak.
The detention room door eased open a sliver. A shadow slipped in.
Sarah froze mid-sentence, eyes darting to Amy. Amy’s pen stopped too.
Through the crack, Clara’s face appeared. Bandage still on her forehead, smirk sharper than ever. She pressed a finger to her lips—shhh—then tiptoed inside with a paper bag.
Amy’s mouth dropped. “Oh, you’ve GOT to be kidding me,” she whispered.
Clara tiptoed closer, eyes gleaming. She crouched by Sarah’s desk and whispered, “Having fun, losers?”
Sarah nearly fell out of her chair. “WHAT—Clara?! Are you insane?!”
Mr. Collins’ head snapped up. “Silence!” he barked, slapping his cane against the board.
Clara, quick as lightning, ducked under Sarah’s desk like a spy hiding from enemy fire.
Amy’s eyes bulged. “This is not happening…”
Sarah whispered frantically, “What are you DOING here?!”
Clara grinned from the shadows under the desk, pulling something from the paper bag. She hissed, “Round two. I brought ketchup packets.”
Amy choked on air. “She smuggled condiments into detention?! Who DOES that?!”
Mr. Collins glared again. “One more word and it’s three hundred!”
Sarah’s face turned beet-red as Clara poked her ankle with a ketchup packet, whispering, “Say sorry to my forehead.”
Amy was biting her pen to stop from screaming.
Then—POP!
Clara crushed a ketchup packet in her hand. Red goo splattered across the floor like a crime scene.
Sarah screeched. Amy screeched louder.
Mr. Collins turned slowly, eyes narrowing at the red mess spreading under the desks.
His voice was low. Dangerous. “Who. Did. That?”
Sarah shot up, finger trembling as she pointed at Amy. “She did!”
“WHAT?!” Amy shrieked. “It was CLARA!”
But Clara had already ninja-rolled out from under the desk, slipped to the back of the room, and was gone before Mr. Collins turned.
Leaving Amy and Sarah standing in a ketchup massacre.
The teacher’s glare was volcanic. “Four hundred times. Now.”
Amy dropped into her chair like she’d been shot. “I hate my life.”
Sarah buried her face in her notebook. “We’re never getting out of here.”
Phones buzzed outside the door. The cafeteria crowd had already heard. The captions were rolling in:
“Sarah & Amy: Detention Edition 🍅✍️”
“Clara’s ketchup revenge >>> Netflix”
“Pray for their hands 💀”
  The scratching of pens was now a frantic symphony. Four hundred I am sorrys stared back at Amy and Sarah, the words blurring into nonsense.
Amy slammed her pencil down. “My hand is literally divorcing me. I can’t do this anymore.”
Sarah groaned, massaging her fingers. “Same. Look at this—my ‘sorry’ doesn’t even look like English anymore. It looks like I summoned a demon.”
Amy leaned back dramatically, clutching her chest. “Then maybe the demon can finish my lines.”
Before Sarah could retort, Amy suddenly went still. Her eyes widened, then rolled back into her head. She let out the most exaggerated groan of all time.
“Ohhh noooo… I’m fainting… my poor, weak body can’t handle the cruelty of four hundred apologies…”
She slid out of her chair like a dying opera singer, sprawling on the floor.
Sarah blinked. “What… are you doing?”
Amy flopped like a fish, whispering, “Play along. If he thinks I fainted, we’re free.”
Sarah facepalmed so hard her palm actually stung. “This is the worst plan you’ve ever had.”
Before she could stop her, Mr. Collins’ cane tapped the floor. Tap. Tap. He loomed over Amy’s “lifeless” body.
He squinted. “Pathetic acting.”
Amy peeked one eye open. “WHAT?!”
Mr. Collins bellowed, “Up. Now. Or it’s six hundred.”
Amy scrambled back into her chair, mumbling curses under her breath. “I was THIS close to freedom.”
Sarah bit her pencil to keep from laughing. “You were this close to a coffin.”
Then—creak. The door opened again.
Both girls froze.
This time it wasn’t Clara. It was two boys sneaking in with bags of chips and soda. One of them hissed, “Yo, heard detention’s lit today. Brought snacks.”
Amy’s head whipped around so fast she nearly broke her neck. “Give me those chips.”
Sarah slapped her arm. “Are you insane? We’ll get caught!”
Too late. Amy was already tearing open a bag like a raccoon in a dumpster. Crumbs sprayed across her notebook.
Sarah panicked, trying to cover Amy’s crime by pretending to sneeze loudly. “Ah-CHOO! Totally normal sneeze sounds, not crunching!”
But the loud CRUNCH CRUNCH betrayed them.
Mr. Collins’ cane slammed on the desk, shaking the whole room. “WHO BROUGHT FOOD INTO MY DETENTION?!”
The boys bolted for the door, abandoning the chips.
Amy froze mid-bite, a puff of crumbs escaping her lips.
Sarah slowly slid the bag off the desk, whispering, “We’re dead. We’re actually dead.”
Mr. Collins’ eyes locked onto them like heat-seeking missiles. His voice boomed:
“Eight. Hundred. Times.”
Amy choked. “WHAT?!”
Sarah fell face-first into her notebook. “I give up. Just bury me here.”
Phones outside the classroom door buzzed like cicadas. Students were already posting captions again:
“Detention gone WILD 🤯🍟”
“Amy pretending to faint >>> Oscars”
“Mr. Collins vs. Snacks: 1–0”
-------
  Sarah lifted her head from the notebook, her hair sticking up like a frazzled porcupine. Her voice cracked from exhaustion.
“Sir… this is too much.”
Mr. Collins didn’t even blink. “Eight hundred apologies. Keep writing.”
Amy slammed her pen down so hard it nearly snapped in half. Her voice rose with indignation. “Are you kidding me? A girl was getting bullied, we saved her, and now WE’RE the villains?!”
Sarah nodded vigorously, jabbing a finger at the air like a lawyer in court. “Exactly! We risked our lives! Clara was basically a dragon with lip gloss, and we—” she pointed at herself and Amy “—were the knights! And what do knights get? Punishment! For what?!”
Amy threw her arms up dramatically. “For saving a life! Sir, this is injustice. History will remember this as the day Mr. Collins crushed two heroes with paperwork!”
The room went dead silent.
Mr. Collins slowly removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. His cane tapped against the desk once. Twice.
His voice was low, dangerously calm. “Heroes…? Heroes don’t turn my detention hall into a circus. Heroes don’t cover the floor in ketchup. Heroes don’t smuggle chips into my classroom.”
Amy crossed her arms, pouting. “That was community service. Feeding the hungry.”
Sarah snorted, trying not to laugh. “She’s not wrong.”
Mr. Collins snapped his gaze at them, sharp as a hawk. “One thousand times.”
Amy and Sarah’s jaws dropped so far they almost hit the desks.
“One… THOUSAND?!” they shouted together.
The entire hallway outside erupted in laughter—the eavesdropping students could hear every word. More captions popped up instantly:
“Sarah & Amy vs. 1000 Sorrys ✍️💀”
“From heroes to zeroes in 0.5 seconds”
“Collins: the final boss”
Amy clutched her head like the world was ending. “I can’t! I won’t! My hand will fall off!”
Sarah buried her face in her notebook, groaning so loudly it sounded like a dying cow. “Why is this happening to us?!”