he scream tore through the hallway like a siren—sharp, startled, and utterly convincing. Students jerked their heads, lockers slammed, a teacher dropped her coffee. They all turned toward the source.
Frank “The Prank King” Delaney staggered backward, hands clutched around the metal fork jutting dramatically from his tongue. His shirt was splattered with what looked horribly like blood.
Blake, his best friend and crime partner, shouted, “Somebody help! Call the nurse!”
Panic rippled forward like a wave across an American beach during hurricane season—fast, chaotic, impossible to stop. Shoes squeaked. Students jumped out of the way. Teachers scrambled, radios crackling on their belts.
In the middle of the chaos, Frank caught Blake’s eye and winked.
Another flawless performance.
He collapsed to the ground, chest heaving, body twitching in all the ways a seventh-grader imagines dramatic near-death should look. Kids screamed. One girl burst into tears. A boy dropped his lunch tray, spaghetti splattering across the linoleum.
The nurse arrived, heart pounding, hand pressed over her mouth.
“Oh my goodness—Frank? Frank!”
Frank let out the softest whisper, “Got you,” then stuck out his tongue revealing… gelatin. Cherry-red Jell-O molded perfectly over a plastic fork.
It took ten seconds for the nurse to realize she’d been fooled.
It took two seconds for her face to turn the color of a stop sign.
“Frank Delaney,” she said, voice shaking not with fear but fury, “you get up right now.”
Frank popped up like a jack-in-the-box. “Ta-da!”
Gasps. Groans. The entire hallway collectively decided they were too old for this.
Blake doubled over laughing. “Dude, the look on her face—priceless! You’re a legend!”
But legends, as every American tabloid knows, burn bright… until they burn out.
Frank wasn’t worried about that. Not today. Not when Halloween was tomorrow, and pranking was practically a national holiday.
“Tomorrow’s gonna be even bigger,” he whispered to Blake as they strutted away. “I’ve got something planned that’ll go down in school history.”
He didn’t realize someone nearby heard him.
And that someone was very, very tired of being Frank’s punchline.
At lunch, the cafeteria buzzed with stories of the “fork-in-the-tongue” prank. Frank couldn’t go five feet without someone saying, “Man, you’re insane,” or, “How did you do it?”
Frank loved every second.
Until he didn’t.
Because across the cafeteria, at a table near the vending machines, sat Ashley Rivera. Still pale. Still shaking.
Ashley was known for two things: her insanely good grades, and her fear of—well—everything. Pranks triggered her anxiety like a match to dry grass.
So when Frank and Blake filmed a rubber spider dropping from the ceiling onto her shoulder…
Ashley didn’t scream.
She froze. Completely shut down. Her entire tray slipped out of her hands and shattered on the floor. Tears spilled down her cheeks.
Blake laughed so loudly half the cafeteria turned.
Frank laughed too—but only for a second.
Because the look on Ashley’s face wasn’t funny. It was terrified.
And the look on her best friend Melinda’s face… that was something else entirely.
Melinda marched up to Frank, grabbed the front of his hoodie, and hissed, “One day, you’re going to prank the wrong person. And when it comes back around, it won’t be funny.”
Frank swallowed. “Relax—it was a joke.”
But Melinda just stared at him with that strange cold intensity some people get right before a storm breaks.
“Tomorrow’s Halloween,” she said. “Be careful what you wish for.”
Frank forced a laugh, but Blake jumped in, bumping him on the shoulder. “Oh please. You can’t prank a prankster. Everyone knows that.”
Melinda didn’t blink. She didn’t flinch.
She simply whispered, “We’ll see.”
The next morning—Halloween—the school felt different.
The sunlight washed over the asphalt of the parking lot, but everything felt muted, like the world was drawing a breath, waiting for something.
By third period, Frank was vibrating with excitement.
“Today is THE day,” he whispered to Blake. “The big one.”
He didn’t tell Blake the details—not because he didn’t trust him, but because grand pranks required grand secrecy.
Frank waited until the lights went off.
In the middle of class.
Right on cue.
At first there was laughter. Then confusion. Then whispering.
“Maybe the power went out.”
“Maybe someone tripped a breaker.”
Or maybe, just maybe, someone was setting the stage.
Perfect.
Frank reached into his backpack for the projector remote.
One click.
And the classroom TV flickered with static.
Kids murmured. Someone near the window whimpered, “I don’t like this, guys…”
Then, slowly, a shape appeared on the screen.
A girl with long black hair covering her face.
The same girl from a dozen viral urban legends.
A dead-silent hush fell over the classroom. Even Blake leaned back in surprise.
But before Frank could trigger the next part of the plan—heavy knocking on the classroom door—someone knocked.
Three times.
The class jumped.
Frank froze. “…Blake, did you—?”
Blake shook his head, eyes wide. “Dude, that wasn’t me.”
The knocking grew louder. Faster.
Ms. Jay held up her hands. “Everyone stay calm—”
The door handle jiggled.
Ashley gasped, gripping Melinda’s arm.
The lights flickered violently.
Then the screen cracked—an explosion of pixels—and the ghost girl’s hand reached toward the glass.
Someone screamed. Ms. Jay stumbled backward. The entire class rose to its feet, desks screeching against the floor.
And then…
The lights snapped back on.
The TV cut out.
The door flung open—
And the ghost girl stepped inside.
The room erupted into shrieks. Students bolted to the back wall. Ms. Jay nearly fainted.
Melinda kneeled beside her, “Oh no, Ms. Jay! Stay with us!”
The ghost girl staggered forward, pale face blank, eyes sunken.
Frank stared, breath caught in his throat.
Because he didn’t plan this.
At all.
The ghost girl leaned down over Frank’s desk.
And whispered, in a voice that sounded like wind through dead leaves:
“Got you.”
She pulled off her wig.
Ashley Rivera grinned.
Behind her, Melinda appeared in full EMT gear, carrying a medical bag.
And behind Melinda walked a man with fake blood smeared across his shirt.
“Ashley’s uncle,” Melinda said with a smirk. “Real paramedic. Very convincing, right?”
Kids in the room slack-jawed. Some screamed again—out of embarrassment this time.
“What… what is happening?” Frank sputtered.
“You prank everyone,” Melinda said. “So we gave you a taste of your own medicine.”
She gestured toward the hallway.
Two teachers burst in carrying Ms. Jay—except she sat up suddenly, smiling sheepishly.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” she said to Frank. “You should’ve seen your face.”
“You—” Frank choked. “But you almost fainted!”
“I was acting,” she said. “Turns out it’s pretty easy when you spend ten years teaching drama club.”
Frank sank into his chair. Blake fell backward into his.
The whole classroom—every student who’d ever been pranked, every kid who’d ever been embarrassed—broke into wild applause.
Principal Hale arrived then, arms crossed, wearing a long black cape and vampire fangs (someone had talked her into dressing up for Halloween).
“Well,” she said. “It seems the prankster has finally been pranked.”
“I… I…” Frank stuttered, overwhelmed.
Melinda rested her hand on the back of Ashley’s chair. “Don’t worry, Frank. We’re not doing this to hurt you.”
“And we’re not trying to scare you,” Ashley added gently. “We just wanted you to understand that pranks can go too far.”
Principal Hale stepped closer, her tone firm but warm. “Frank, your creativity is impressive. Your energy is impressive. Your execution is—well—dramatic. But there’s a line between funny and hurtful. And lately, you’ve been crossing it.”
Frank swallowed, feeling heat rise up his neck.
“I didn’t mean to scare people like that,” he said quietly.
“No one thinks you’re a bad kid,” Ms. Jay said. “You just need to aim that imagination somewhere healthier. Somewhere that doesn’t traumatize half the school.”
Frank took a deep breath. “Okay. I get it.”
Blake nudged him. “Dude… we got destroyed.”
“Yep,” Frank said. “And we deserved it.”
“You really did,” Melinda said cheerfully.
Ashley laughed softly. “Come on. It’s Halloween. Sit with us at lunch. No pranks. Just pizza.”
Frank blinked. “Really?”
“Sure,” Melinda said. “Lesson delivered. Grudges not included.”
Frank stood slowly. “Thanks.”
As he walked past the class, a few kids clapped him on the back. Some snickered. But some smiled. And for the first time in a long time, Frank didn’t feel like the joke.
He felt… understood.
Almost human.
Almost normal.
But the day was still far from over.
Because across the school, another battle was unfolding—one that had nothing to do with pranks.
It had to do with a babysitter.
Two siblings.
And karma arriving right on schedule.
Across town, under the same bright California sky, someone else was about to learn the same lesson in a completely different way.
Jasmine Lopez checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror, pulled a wavy strand of hair out of her eyes, and took a deep breath. She was parked in front of a white stucco house with a patchy front lawn and an American flag hanging crookedly from the porch.
Third babysitting job this month. The last two had ended in disaster.
“This one’ll be different,” she told herself. “They said they’re good kids. How bad can it be?”
She grabbed her tote bag, stepped out, and rang the doorbell.
The door flew open.
“Hi!” A woman in navy scrubs—tired eyes, kind smile—appeared, simultaneously zipping up a purse and shouting over her shoulder. “Guys! Babysitter’s here! Shoes on!”
“You must be Jasmine,” the woman said. “I’m Denise. Thank you again for coming. We really, really appreciate this. You’re saving us.”
“No problem,” Jasmine said. “I love kids.”
Denise let out a short, skeptical laugh. “We’ll see if you still say that in a few hours.”
Two small tornadoes appeared at her hip—a boy maybe nine, freckles and messy hair, and a younger girl, about seven, with huge brown eyes and a suspicious expression. Both wore that particular look kids get when they’ve already decided what kind of day this will be.
“This is my son, Tyler,” Denise said, nudging the boy. “And my daughter, Mia.”
Tyler grinned. “You got donuts?”
“Yeah,” Mia said slowly, eyeing Jasmine from head to toe. “Did you bring anything else?”
Denise cleared her throat. “We talked about this. You be nice.”
“Donuts first,” Jasmine said brightly. “Threats later.”
Denise laughed despite herself. “Kitchen’s straight ahead. There’s pizza money on the counter. They already had dinner, so just one donut each. Two max, or they’ll start climbing the ceiling. Oh, and please don’t let them watch any movies with clowns. They’re terrified of them. They won’t sleep.”
Tyler and Mia looked at each other.
The look was quick, but Jasmine had grown up babysitting cousins. She knew conspiracy when she saw it.
“Got it,” she said. “No clowns. One donut each. Maybe two. Well, maybe three if they’re sweet.”
“Do not let them guilt you into three,” Denise said, pointing a finger. “We live off Highway 5, I can be home in twenty minutes if there’s an emergency. Oh—and thank you again.”
She kissed both kids on the head. They tolerated it with long-suffering sighs.
“Bye, Mom,” they chorused.
The door shut behind her.
A beat of silence.
“So,” Jasmine said, clapping her hands once. “We gonna be besties, or what?”
Tyler flopped dramatically on the couch. “I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry,” Mia said. “He once ate an entire box of cereal and then said he was still starving.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Jasmine said. “Donuts?”
They perked up.
In the kitchen, she opened the white bakery box. Glazed, chocolate, sprinkles. “All right,” she said. “Pick your poison.”
Tyler took a chocolate glazed; Mia grabbed one with rainbow sprinkles.
“You’re not having one?” Mia asked, mouth already full.
“I’m pacing myself,” Jasmine said. “Maybe later.”
They went to the living room. Tyler clicked on the TV.
“We need to watch the lotto numbers,” he said. “Mom bought a ticket. If we win, we become millionaires. Or zillionaires. Or… whatever the guy says on TV.”
“Do you even know what you’d do with a million dollars?” Jasmine asked.
“Easy,” Tyler said. “Ten percent to Mom, ten percent to savings, eighty percent for hot wheels and snacks.”
Mia snorted. “I’d buy a house in Malibu. And a pet tiger.”
“Okay, very realistic financial planning all around,” Jasmine said, sinking into the armchair.
Her phone buzzed. She glanced down.
Mark ❤️: Miss you already.
She smiled.
Tyler leaped up suddenly, clutching his throat. His face twisted.
“J-Jasmine,” he croaked. “M-my mouth… it’s burning…”
Jasmine shot up. “Tyler?!”
He dropped his donut. “I… I… I can’t… breathe…”
Mia screamed. “He’s allergic! He’s allergic to chocolate! Oh my gosh—call Mom! Call 911! Call—”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Jasmine grabbed Tyler’s shoulders. “Where’s your EpiPen?! Do you have an EpiPen? Tell me where it is!”
He focused on her, lips trembling, eyes bulging dramatically. Then he coughed once.
And broke into hysterical laughter.
“You should’ve seen your face!” he howled. “You looked like you were about to pass out!”
Mia doubled over, cackling. “She was gonna cry!”
Jasmine stared, blood still roaring in her ears. “You… you little…”
“Relax,” Tyler said, still giggling. “It was a prank. That’s all. You gotta chill if you’re gonna babysit us.”
Jasmine pressed her hand to her chest, willing her heart to slow. “That wasn’t a prank. That was a near heart attack. Massive difference.”
“You should’ve seen yourself,” Mia wheezed. “You looked like the people in those TikToks where they find out they lost the lottery.”
“Speaking of,” Tyler said. “Lotto numbers. Turn it up.”
Jasmine sank back, still shaken, and forced her breathing to even out.
The TV showed the glossy studio, the spinning cage of numbered balls, the host in his sharp suit.
“Tonight’s first number is… thirty-one…”
Tyler leaped to his feet again. “Thirty-one!” he shrieked. “That’s what Mom picked!”
“Second number… sixty.”
“Sixty! Oh my gosh, oh my gosh—”
“Third number… forty-three.”
“Forty-three!” Mia screamed. “No way. No way.”
“Fourth number… eight.”
“Eight! That’s four in a row!” Tyler spun in a circle. “We’re gonna be rich!”
Jasmine blinked. “You guys actually memorized all the numbers?”
“Well yeah,” Mia said. “It’s the California jackpot. It’s like, national-level money. We could get a house with a pool and a movie theater and a fridge full of Gatorade—”
“Fifth number… thirty-nine.”
Tyler and Mia grabbed each other, shrieking. “Thirty-nine! We got that too! Jasmine! We got five out of five! If we get the Powerball number, we win everything!”
“Final number… seventeen.”
Tyler froze. “Seventeen,” he whispered. “Seventeen. That’s… that’s…”
“That’s all six,” Mia said, eyes wide. “We… we won. We actually won.”
They collapsed onto the carpet, screaming. Tyler rolled over, hands on his chest. “I can’t breathe. I’m a millionaire.”
Jasmine’s head spun. Good-bye, babysitting. Hello, never having to work weekends again.
“Do you know what this means?” she gasped. “You guys… you guys should call your mom.”
Tyler suddenly straightened. The laughter vanished from his face. Mia’s too.
“You sure you want to do that?” Tyler asked casually. “Like, really sure you want to call her right now?”
Jasmine frowned. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Mia reached for the remote. “Maybe you should… check the date first.”
“The date?” Jasmine looked at the screen. In the bottom corner, under the lottery logo, was a small timestamp.
Last Saturday.
“This is a recording?” Jasmine asked slowly.
“Yep,” Tyler said, popping the “p.” “Old numbers.”
“We pulled it up on YouTube,” Mia added. “We wanted to see if you’d fall for it.”
“And you did,” Tyler said. “Hard.”
They both burst out laughing again.
“You guys,” Jasmine said flatly. “I thought your family just became millionaires.”
“Not yet,” Mia said. “But when we do, we’re not hiring you. You’ll quit too fast.”
Jasmine exhaled sharply and forced a smile. “Okay,” she said. “You got me. Good one. Ha ha. Very creative. Now it’s my turn to set some ground rules—”
Her back suddenly went rigid. Fire exploded across her tongue.
She spat out the bite of donut she’d just taken. “What… what is that?!” she coughed. “What did you put on these?”
“Hot sauce,” Tyler said proudly. “Extra spicy. We thought you’d like some heat.”
Mia held up the bottle like a trophy. “Welcome to the house.”
Jasmine sputtered, grabbing for water. Her mouth felt like the Mojave desert on fire. She gulped from the first glass she found—and nearly spit it out again.
The water tasted off. Salty. Bitter.
She pulled the glass away and saw small white grains floating in it.
“Did you put salt in the water?” she demanded.
Tyler and Mia howled.
“You said you were good with kids,” Mia said. “We’re just testing your skills.”
Jasmine set the glass down very gently.
“Okay,” she said. “So you like pranks.”
“We love pranks,” Tyler said. “We’re basically professionals.”
“Three babysitters quit before you,” Mia added. “One lasted two hours. That’s our record.”
Jasmine smiled.
It wasn’t a nice smile.
“Challenge accepted,” she said softly.
The next hour, the kids escalated.
They hid her phone twice.
Jumped out from behind the bathroom door with masks on.
Tried to fake a spider in her hair with a piece of lint.
They were relentless.
So was she.
At exactly 8:17 PM, the doorbell rang.
“That must be the pizza,” Jasmine said. She stood, keeping her face neutral.
“Can we get pepperoni?” Tyler asked. “And stuffed crust? And garlic bread? And wings—”
“Relax, you just became imaginary millionaires,” Jasmine said. “We’re not actually rich.”
She opened the door.
A cardboard box sat on the porch. No pizza logo. No driver in sight.
Just a plain, brown, ominous box.
“What is it?” Mia whispered from behind her.
“Probably for your parents,” Jasmine said. “Could be Amazon.”
“Or…” Tyler said slowly, eyes gleaming. “It could be a haunted doll. Or a snake. Or—”
“Or we could just open it and see,” Jasmine said. She stepped aside. “Go ahead. You guys like surprises, right?”
Tyler frowned. “You open it.”
“You scared?” Jasmine asked lightly.
“No,” he said defensively.
“Then open it.”
He swallowed, then reached out and tugged at the lid.
Nothing jumped out.
No clown. No fake limbs. Just a folded note sitting on top of something wrapped in black cloth.
Tyler picked up the note and read aloud.
“Dear Tyler and Mia,” he said. “This box contains something you absolutely do not want anywhere near you. Do not unwrap it. Do not touch it. Do not look at it. Whatever you do, don’t—”
He stopped, eyes widening. “That’s it. It just says ‘don’t.’”
Mia stared at the black cloth. “We have to open it,” she whispered.
“We probably shouldn’t open it,” Tyler whispered back.
“You’re scared,” she said.
“You’re scared.”
They looked at Jasmine.
She raised an eyebrow. “I mean… you guys are the experts.”
Tyler grabbed the cloth and yanked it away.
Nothing.
Just a giant, red, squeaky… clown shoe.
They blinked.
“What?” Tyler said. “That’s it?”
Jasmine grinned. “You don’t like clowns, right?”
Mia backed away so fast she bumped into the wall. “Get it out,” she squeaked. “Get it out of the house.”
“You’re scared of a shoe?” Jasmine asked.
“It belongs to a clown,” Mia whispered, eyes wide. “Where’s the rest of him?”
Right on cue, the living room lights flickered.
A low, warbling laugh floated in from the hallway.
“Hee-hee-hee…”
Tyler spun around. “Nope. No. No. No.”
Red light pulsed from the dark hall. Footsteps. Slow and exaggerated.
Mia grabbed Jasmine’s arm. “Tell us that’s you,” she said. “Please tell us that’s you.”
Jasmine smiled. “Why would it be me?”
A figure appeared at the end of the hallway.
Tall. Shoulders hunched. Bright red nose. White-painted face. Wig like a neon bush. Holding a balloon.
Mia screamed. Tyler’s jaw dropped.
The clown shuffled closer.
“Hi kids,” he croaked. “I heard you like pranks.”
The scream that came out of Tyler’s mouth could’ve shattered glass.
The clown took one more step… and tripped on his own huge shoe.
He sprawled on the carpet, wig askew.
Underneath all the makeup, he started laughing.
“Okay, okay,” he said, rubbing his elbow. “I’m done, I’m done, I’m done. I can’t breathe in this thing.”
“Dad?” Tyler’s voice cracked.
Denise appeared behind him in the hallway, no longer in scrubs, now in jeans and a sweatshirt. She was holding her phone, filming.
“Surprise,” she said. “Jasmine called us. Said you two were treating her like a YouTube challenge.”
Mia’s eyes were huge. “You pranked us?”
“You pranked my boyfriend,” Jasmine said, folding her arms. “You faked allergic reactions. Messed with my feelings. Made me think your family won the lottery. Hot sauce in donuts? Really?”
“You hot-sauced the babysitter?” Denise asked, turning to her kids. “Seriously?”
“It was funny,” Tyler mumbled.
“Still funny?” their dad asked, pulling off the red nose.
Tyler and Mia looked from the clown shoe to the black cloth to the red nose. Then to their parents. Then to Jasmine.
The living room was dead silent except for the faint buzz of the overhead light.
Then, slowly, Jasmine crouched down so she was eye level with them.
“You know what I realized,” she said gently, “when you were messing with my phone and texting my boyfriend mean things ‘as a joke’?”
Tyler winced. He’d almost forgotten that one.
“I realized you have no idea how much your pranks actually hurt,” she said. “Because no one’s ever made you feel that way. Not really. Not long enough for it to sink in.”
She held up her own phone.
On the screen was a draft text message that read: We’re over. You’re boring and I never liked you anyway. Don’t call me.
Mia swallowed. “You… you sent that?”
Jasmine hit “back.” The message disappeared unsent.
“I could have,” she said softly. “I thought about it. Just to show you how it feels to have someone take something important to you and stomp on it for a laugh.”
“But she didn’t,” Denise said. “Instead, she called us. We spent the last hour setting this up.”
“Turnabout is fair play,” their dad added. “Or in plain English: what goes around, comes around.”
Tyler sank onto the couch. His heart was still pounding from the clown scare, but something heavier was starting to settle in right behind his ribs.
“We didn’t mean to hurt you,” he muttered.
“I know,” Jasmine said. “But you did. Just like Frank did when he pranked Ashley at school. Just like kids do every day when they think, ‘it’s just a joke.’”
“How do you know about Frank?” Tyler asked.
Jasmine smiled faintly. “You think the middle school drama doesn’t reach the high school babysitters’ group chat? That fork-in-the-tongue stunt is already trending.”
Mia’s eyes widened. “You know Ashley?”
“Her older cousin is my best friend,” Jasmine said. “She called me yesterday, freaking out. Said some prankster terrified her at lunch. Made her feel like a target instead of a person.”
Tyler stared at his hands. For the first time, he thought—not about how funny something looked from the outside—but about what it felt like on the inside.
“I didn’t think about it like that,” he admitted.
“That’s the problem,” Denise said. “Nobody does. That’s why we wanted you to actually feel it. The fear. The shock. The confusion. So the next time you’re tempted to pull a ‘hilarious’ trick… you remember this.”
“The clown was kind of extra, though,” their dad said, picking foam out of his hair. “I almost scared myself in the mirror.”
Mia snorted. Tyler cracked a smile.
“We’re sorry,” Mia said, looking at Jasmine. “We really are. We just wanted to see if we could make a babysitter quit again. It was like… a game.”
“Games can still hurt people,” Jasmine said. “But apology accepted. On one condition.”
Tyler tensed. “What?”
“You help me scare the life out of Frank the Prankster next year,” she said, voice dropping conspiratorially. “I have ideas. Big ones.”
Mia’s grin returned in full force. “Deal.”
Tyler laughed. “Deal. But like… in a nice way. A safe way.”
“Exactly,” Jasmine said. “Smart scare, not cruel scare.”
Denise checked the time. “All right,” she said. “Movie time, then bed. And yes, we can all agree: nothing with clowns.”
“Please,” their dad said, pulling off the last of his costume. “I’ve seen my reflection enough for one year.”
They all laughed.
For the first time all night, it sounded like something real.
When Jasmine finally left just after ten, the air outside was crisp and cool, a reminder that fall in California tried its best, even if the palm trees didn’t change color.
She checked her phone as she walked to her car.
Mark ❤️: Sorry if I overreacted earlier. I panicked. You okay?
She smiled and typed back: I’m okay. Wild night. Will explain later. Just know this: kids are savage.
He replied instantly: I grew up in this country. I am aware 😂
She slid her phone into her pocket and looked back at the house.
Inside, Tyler and Mia were probably telling each other the clown had looked just a little too real. That the box on the porch had felt a little too heavy. That maybe, just maybe, their babysitter wasn’t someone to mess with after all.
Across town, Frank was sitting at his kitchen table, a half-eaten slice of Halloween store-bought cake in front of him. His mom was talking, gentle but firm, about empathy and consequences. About how America loved a good joke—but loved kindness more.
Frank listened in a way he hadn’t before.
Because now, when he closed his eyes, he didn’t just see people laughing.
He saw Ashley’s face when the spider dropped.
He saw his classmates’ faces when they thought Ms. Jay was really hurt.
He saw his own reflection in the classroom TV as the ghost girl stepped out.
Small. Scared. Lost in his own game.
He picked up his fork, poked at the frosting, and said quietly, “I think I’m done with pranks for a while.”
His mom smiled. “Good,” she said. “I think the whole school will be grateful.”
Halloween rolled on outside, full of costumes and candy and kids racing from house to house.
Inside those houses, families watched the news, scrolled social media, talked about everything and nothing.
And somewhere between all those screens and sugar highs, a handful of kids in one California district learned something that would follow them far past seventh grade:
You can be clever. You can be funny. You can even scare people on Halloween.
But if you forget that there are real hearts inside those ribs you’re trying to shock—
you’re not a prankster.
You’re just mean.
And mean, as every American story eventually proves, never looks as cool as you think it does once the lights come back on.
