A Teacher

Micah sat through his last period of the day — History — feeling like a glass about to shatter.

Mr. Drexel droned on at the front of the classroom, pacing beside the projector as he flipped through bullet points about Cold War proxy conflicts. Normally, Micah used this time to sketch in his notebook, but not today.

Today, his thoughts were elsewhere.

Charlie.

She was coming back to him.

She would be his.

He just didn’t know how.

The bell rang. Students rose. Backpacks zipped.

But Drexel raised a hand toward Micah. “Hold up, Mr. Ford. A quick word.”

The room emptied. Micah sat still.

Drexel didn’t say anything for a long time. He simply walked to the back of the room, opened the closet, and rolled something out.

A black suitcase. Large. Matte. Clean.

Micah’s breath caught.

“I believe this belongs to you,” Drexel said softly, tapping the handle. “Well earned.”

Micah rose slowly from his desk, feeling like the ground wasn’t real beneath him. “You’re… MCS_Freezer001?”

Drexel smiled faintly. “You didn't know? I thought you were sharper than that.”

Micah’s chest tightened. His stomach was in knots. “You made me bet for her.”

Drexel's tone stayed calm, casual. “You wanted her. I gave you a chance to earn her. That’s the game, Micah. That’s the whole point.”

He slid a folded piece of paper from his pocket and tucked it into the case's handle. “She's all yours now. But let me offer a little advice…”

Micah stayed still, his hand still not touching the suitcase.

Drexel continued. “The app isn’t the game. The girls aren’t the prize. You’re not playing FreezeTag Go —you’re becoming part of it. The faster you understand that, the further you’ll go.”

He placed a firm hand on Micah’s shoulder. “Keep going.”

Then he left.

Micah stood there alone. With the suitcase. With his pulse thudding in his ears.

The drive home felt longer than it was.

He didn’t remember unlocking the front door or closing the blinds. He only remembered the sound of the suitcase wheels against the floor as he dragged it to his bedroom and stopped in the doorway.

Leah was exactly where he had left her — posed with both hands against her cheek, curled as if dreaming. Her brown eyes still wide open. Her lips slightly parted.

She looked peaceful. Perfect.

And now, she was about to have company.

Micah sat on the floor and ran his hand along the zipper of the suitcase. It was cold to the touch, with a tiny humming sound coming from inside — some kind of insulation tech he hadn’t seen before.

He undid the latches. Unzipped the top.

And there she was.

Charlie Wiez.

His best friend since they were nine.

The girl who shared comic books with him under cafeteria tables.

Who punched his arm when he cried during Bridge to Terabithia.

The only person who understood how quiet he was on purpose.

Her frozen body was curled in fetal position inside the velvet-lined case.

Her glasses were still perched on her nose.

Her long brown hair braided over one shoulder.

She wore a partially unbuttoned blouse — nothing underneath. Her lips were parted. Her cheeks slightly flushed.

Micah just… stared.

He didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink.

The girl in the case wasn’t *his friend* anymore.

She was his.

Moving her was easier than he thought. Her body was stiff but light, easy to guide. He lifted her carefully, feeling the unnatural weight of something preserved, airless, artificial — but still warm with memory.

He laid her next to Leah on the bed. The two girls — blonde and brunette, theater star and honor student — both blank, both beautiful, both **his**.

Micah sat on the edge of the bed and stared.

The app buzzed.

MY COLLECTION:
Leah Larkin
Charlotte “Charlie” Wiez

“Your Gallery is growing. Keep curating.”

Another ping.

Message from MCS_Freezer001:

“You pose like a natural. She’s yours now. Treat her well. See you in the next round.”

Micah didn’t reply.

He ran his hand through Leah’s golden hair, then reached for Charlie’s braid and traced it with the back of his fingers. Their bodies didn’t react. Didn’t resist. He had total control.

He positioned Charlie’s hand to touch Leah’s shoulder. A soft connection. A suggestion of closeness.

Then he pulled back and admired them both.

It was unreal.

It was perfect.