video show Maya naked in school shower room

The AV Club members exchanged nervous glances as Alex fumbled with the keyboard. The projector screen flickered to life, casting pale light across the dim room. Maya adjusted her glasses, scanning the grainy footage—then froze.

The camera zoomed in on a locker room shower stall, steam curling in the air. A figure stepped into frame, water sluicing off bare shoulders, dark curls clinging to damp skin. Maya’s stomach dropped. The curve of a jaw she knew too well. The birthmark just below the collarbone.

Her own face turned toward the camera.

Alex’s finger hovered over the pause button.

Maya’s grip tightened around her clipboard, the plastic creaking under the pressure. The projector hummed, casting shifting shadows across the AV Club’s faces—Alex’s fingers twitched near the keyboard, another member’s knee bounced under the table. The air smelled like overheated electronics and stale soda.

Her own voice—recorded, distorted—echoed from the speakers, singing off-key in the shower after swim practice. A private moment. A violation.

Alex cleared his throat. "So, uh—"

Maya’s pen clattered to the floor. She didn’t bend to pick it up. Every muscle in her body locked, her breath shallow.

Maya’s fingers twitched toward the keyboard, her knuckles white. The air between them crackled with static—Alex’s breath hitched as she leaned in, her shadow swallowing the flickering projection.

"Delete it." Her voice was low, razor-edged.

One of the AV Club members—Liam, a junior with shaky hands—reached for the mouse. Alex slammed his palm down, blocking him. "Not yet." His eyes darted to Maya’s face, searching for weakness. "We just thought you should see it first. You know, before… decisions get made about our club’s status."

Maya’s exhale was slow, controlled—the kind of breath she took before diving into cold water. The projector’s hum filled the silence as the footage looped: her bare shoulder, the birthmark, the steam. Her reflection flickered in Alex’s glasses when he tilted his head.

"You don’t want to do this." Her voice was quieter now, the edge honed to a whisper.

Liam’s knee knocked against the table, rattling a pile of loose cables. Alex wet his lips, fingers still splayed over the keyboard. "We just need a guarantee," he said. "That the AV Club stays open. No budget cuts. No inspections."