“Ugh, I can’t breathe,” I muttered, slumping in my chair.
“You always say that,” Maya whispered, leaning over from the next desk.
“Are you sick or something?”
“No,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “I don’t get sick like that. It’s just … my nose.”
“Your nose?” she raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, like it’s clogged all the time. Stuffed. Stuffy. Whatever word you want to use. I literally feel like there’s a brick in my face.”
Maya laughed under her breath. “That sounds disgusting.”
“Thanks,” I said flatly.
She grinned. “No, seriously, you’ve been like this for weeks. Are you sure it’s not like the flu? Or allergies? Or you know some ancient disease?”
“Ancient disease?” I gave her a look of disbelief.
“Hey, we are in social studies,” she said, tapping her pencil.
I rolled my eyes. “No, it’s not the plague. It’s just … every time I sit in this class, it gets worse. My nose hates the room.”
Maya leaned back in her chair. Like she was thinking hard. “So you’re telling me the classroom is cursed.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you meant that.”
I sighed. “Okay, fine, maybe I did. Look at the evidence! I sit down, the vent blows right on me, the dry-erase marker smell hits me, and boom. Instant suffocation.”
She covered her nose dramatically. “The case of the Deadly Whiteboard Marker.”
I laughed a little despite myself. “Exactly. And the worst part? Nobody else notices! Everyone’s just chilling, and I’m over here fighting for air, climbing Mount Everest.”
“Okay,” Maya said, pretending to take notes like a detective. “Symptom one: Constant stuffy nose. Symptom two: Weird mucus. Symptom three: Mysterious trigger and social studies class. Possible causes: Dust, mold, or evil teacher aura.”
I snorted. “Evil teacher aura?”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of it,” she whispered, smirking.
I tilted my head, pretending to consider it. “Yeah … maybe. Mrs. W’s marker obsession is actually a cover-up.”
“Exactly! She’s secretly testing your immune system. You’re the experiment.”
“Wow, thanks,” I muttered. “That makes me feel so much better.”
She nudged me with her elbow. “Hey, maybe you’ve got superpowers and don’t know it yet, like your body refuses to get sick, so it shows symptoms in weird ways.”
I blinked at her. “Superpowers. Really?”
“Yup,” she said confidently. “If Marvel ever calls, just tell them your origin story: middle schooler who can’t breathe in social studies but never gets a fever.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “That’s the lamest superhero ever.”
“But the most relatable,” she shot back.
The bell rang, and everyone started packing up. I shoved my notebook into my backpack and stood up, already breathing easier now that I was leaving the room.
“See?” I said, pointing to my nose. “Outside of class, I’m fine.”
Maya nodded seriously. “Yup. Definitely cursed. You’re doomed, but at least you’ve got me to investigate.”
I smiled. “Thanks, detective.”
“Anytime,” she said with a wink. “But next time, bring tissues.”
