He's headed to the place he dreads the most

Lucas barely managed to fling himself into the classroom just as the bell rang, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He straightened his wrinkled clothes and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible, a pointless endeavor.

Miss Harding, the notoriously strict literature teacher everyone seemed to hate, was already mid-stride towards him, her sharp eyes scanning him from top to bottom. She paused, her gaze locking with Lucas’s own, like a hawk spotting a mouse.

"Mr. Reed," she said, her voice icy and precise, "Would you care to explain why you’ve graced us with your presence at the very last possible second? Or were you simply testing the elasticity of my patience this morning?"

Lucas swallowed, his mind scrambling for a plausible excuse. But before he could stammer out a response, the woman turned sharply on her heel, her high heels clicking decisively against the tiled floor.

"We'll discuss this after class. Take your seat. And do try to arrive on time moving forward, it’s not a difficult concept."

Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Lucas made his way to his usual seat at the back of the class, right next to Megan.

Megan was the school’s resident goth queen, and though she wasn’t particularly warm toward most people, she had a soft spot for Lucas, or at least, that's what he liked to think. Dressed in her signature black, today’s ensemble featured a corset-style top and skirt with a choker adorned by a silver crescent moon. Her eyeliner was sharp enough to cut glass and her straight, jet-black hair spilled over her shoulders like ink.

She didn’t even look up from doodling skulls in her notebook as he slid into the seat next to her.

"Cutting it close, as always," she muttered, her tone somewhere between amused and indifferent.

"Don’t act like you’d miss me if I didn’t show," Lucas shot back, grinning.

Megan finally glanced at him, her dark lips curling into a smirk. "Not even remotely."

Despite her teasing, Lucas couldn’t help but feel that familiar pang of longing. He’d been stuck in her friend zone for years, and no matter how much he tried, Megan saw him as little more than her goofy sidekick.

Miss Harding’s voice snapped him out of his reverie.

"Turn to page 126, and let’s discuss the themes of moral ambiguity in Macbeth. And before anyone complains, yes, I will be cold-calling today. Participation isn’t optional."

The class groaned collectively, but Lucas barely noticed. His hand slipped into his hoodie pocket, fingers brushing against the intricately carved 20-sided die. Mr. Jester’s gift.

He’d been dying to try it out, and now, the stars seemed to have aligned. Detention with Miss Harding wasn’t a punishment, it was an opportunity.

The next forty-five minutes passed in a blur of monotonous lectures and half-hearted attempts by the class to engage in discussion. Miss Harding’s sharp tongue ensured that no one coasted through unscathed, least of all Lucas, who stumbled through an analysis of Lady Macbeth’s guilt. Megan, naturally, nailed her answers, earning a rare nod of approval from their teacher.

When the final bell rang, the room emptied out quickly. Everyone else was eager to escape, but Lucas stayed seated, his heart racing.

Miss Harding glanced up from her desk, her expression unamused.

"Mr. Reed, I trust you remember our earlier conversation?"

Lucas nodded, trying to keep his face neutral. "Yes, ma’am."

"Good. Take a seat in the front row and start writing an essay on the importance of punctuality. A thousand words. I expect it by the end of detention."

Lucas smirked inwardly as he moved to the front, sliding his hand back into his pocket to retrieve the dice.

Miss Harding was at the head of the classroom, a portrait of authority cloaked in deliberate restraint. Her blonde hair was swept into a neat bun, though a few errant strands framed her face, softening its otherwise sharp angles. Thin, wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose gave her a studious air, though they did little to obscure her piercing hazel eyes.

She wore a modest button-up blouse in slate gray tucked neatly into a knee-length black pencil skirt. The outfit, though professional, couldn't entirely disguise her hourglass figure. Her blouse hugged her frame just enough to hint at the curves beneath, and her skirt accentuated her long legs, clad in sheer black tights. At her desk, she sat with her back perfectly straight, her expression one of calm detachment, though the faintest furrow of her brows betrayed her perpetual state of mild irritation.

Lucas’s heart pounded in his chest as he eyed her. Mr. Jester’s dice burned a hole in his pocket, their potential too enticing to ignore. He’d seen it in action—his mother barking like a dog and crawling on all fours as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Yet here he was, hesitant, doubting whether it could really work.

Sucking in a breath, Lucas decided to take the plunge.

“Miss Harding,” he said suddenly, standing up from his seat.

She looked up from her desk, her hazel eyes narrowing. “Yes, Mr. Reed? You’d better have a good reason for interrupting your punishment.”

Lucas’s palms were slick with sweat as he clutched the dice in one hand, his mind racing. He needed to test the waters, but how? Mimicking Mr. Jester’s audacity seemed as good a plan as any.

"You should… act like a dog,” he blurted out, his voice trembling slightly.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Miss Harding blinked, her lips parting slightly in disbelief before her expression hardened into something dangerous. "Excuse me?"

Lucas fumbled, the dice slipping from his hand and bouncing onto the desk in front of him. The engraved numbers glinted in the light as it settled on a 4.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then Miss Harding’s face darkened with fury. She rose from her chair, every inch of her posture radiating authority as she stormed toward Lucas.

“Lucas Reed!” she snapped, her voice harsh like a whip. “How dare you say something so outrageous in my classroom? Are you completely out of your mind?”

Before Lucas could stammer an apology, her hand shot out, striking his cheek in a sharp slap that made his ears ring. His skin burned from the impact, but his mind raced faster than the pain could register.

“What is this?” she demanded, her hand reaching for the dice.

Panic seized Lucas as he saw her fingers close around it. ****, he blurted out another suggestion, his voice cracking under pressure.