Chapter 3 The First Name
Sabrina.
"Get away from me!"
I planted my palms against Luke’s chest, pushing him back with all the strength I could muster.
He didn’t budge easily, but he stepped back just enough to let the cold hallway air rush between us, breaking the suffocating hold of his presence. My heart was practically hammering its way out of my ribs.
"I don't know what kind of sick, twisted game you're playing," I hissed, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and white-hot anger. "But you need to leave me alone. If you ever corner me like this again, I’m going straight to the principal’s office. I’ll report you so fast your head will spin."
Luke didn't flinch.
He just stood there, his hands sliding back into the pockets of his dark jacket. His stormy grey eyes searched my face, completely unbothered by my threat.
"Fine," he said, his voice flat, devoid of any emotion. "Suit yourself."
Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode out of the alcove, seamlessly disappearing into the sea of students flooding the hallway.
I stood in the shadows for a long moment, taking deep, shaky breaths. What is wrong with this place?
I adjusted the strap of my backpack, trying to steady my racing thoughts. He was crazy. He had to be. A school-wide prank app downloads onto everyone's phone, and the resident bad boy decides to use it to terrorize the new scholarship girl.
Shaking my head to clear the fog of confusion, I stepped out of the alcove and forced myself to walk to my next class.
By the time the final bell rang at the end of the day, the initial panic over the NEXT app had morphed into casual, mocking amusement.
As I walked toward the heavy glass exit doors, the chatter of the departing students bounced off the brick walls.
"I heard some sick IT kid in the junior hall created it," a guy with a lacrosse stick slung over his shoulder laughed to his friend. "Some desperate cry for attention."
Just ahead of me, a group of seniors was gathered near the trophy cases. One of them—an athletic, auburn-haired boy who was practically radiating cocky, popular-guy energy. He was tossing a football casually from hand to hand.
"I’m telling you, it’s a joke," the auburn-haired boy said, a wide, arrogant grin on his face.
"Oh, come on, Josh," one of his friends scoffed, nudging him. "Don't act like you didn't freak out when it chimed in history class."
"I didn't!" Josh laughed, tossing the football high in the air and catching it. "The app literally sent me a direct notification right before lunch. It used my full name. It said: Joshua Millersburg, you are next."
His friends erupted into a mixture of mock groans and laughter.
"Shut up, Josh! That’s total bullshit," a girl in a varsity jacket giggled, swatting his arm. "You probably coded that yourself to get out of the physics pop quiz."
"I swear!" Josh chuckled, completely unbothered as he walked out the double doors. "If I don't show up tomorrow, tell the college recruiters I died a hero."
I watched them go, a strange, uneasy chill settling in my chest. Joshua Millersburg. I didn't know him, but his laughter sounded too forced, too loud. I pulled out my own phone, staring at the black, blank icon of the app. It still wouldn't open. It just sat there, dark and empty.
With a sigh, I shoved the phone deep into my pocket and began the long, quiet walk home.
—-
The next morning, the sky over Ridgeview was a dismal, heavy grey, suffocating the sun behind a thick blanket of clouds.
I walked through the iron gates, expecting the usual morning rush of students frantically cramming for tests or gossiping by the entrance.
But the front courtyard was completely empty. The stone steps, usually packed with teenagers, were entirely deserted.
Instead, a dull, chaotic roar of voices was echoing from the side of the main building, near the older science wing.
Curiosity—and a sudden, sharp spike of dread—tugged at me. I followed the noise, my pace quickening as I rounded the corner.
A massive crowd of students had formed in the wide alleyway between the science hall and the gymnasium.
They were packed together, a suffocating wall of winter coats and designer backpacks. Some people were whispering frantically; others were staring downward, their faces completely drained of color.
"What is going on?" I muttered to myself.
I nudged my way through the outer edge of the crowd, craning my neck to see over the shoulders of a tall group of juniors.
"Excuse me," I mumbled, squeezing past them.
The closer I got to the center of the circle, the more the air changed. The crisp morning breeze was suddenly cut by a metallic, heavy stench that made my stomach turn instantly.
I pushed through the final row of students. And my world stopped.
My eyes widened in sheer, paralyzing horror. My palm flew to my mouth, suppressing a violent gasp.
Lying on the cold, damp concrete was Joshua Millersburg.
But it wasn't the arrogant, laughing boy from yesterday. His body was bent and twisted at angles that defied human anatomy, his limbs splayed out like a discarded ragdoll.
He lay in a sickening, dark pool of crimson that had begun to dry and turn black at the edges. His face—the handsome, athletic face that had been smiling just eighteen hours ago—was cracked and bloodied, his eyes staring blankly at the grey sky above.
The metallic smell of blood was overwhelming, and to my absolute horror, a few flies were already hovering over the pool of red, buzzing in the quiet morning air.
It looked as if he hadn't jumped or fallen just this morning. He had been lying here, cold and alone, for hours.
"Oh my god... oh my god..." a girl nearby sobbed, burying her face in her boyfriend's chest.
My gaze drifted down to Josh's pale, cold hand, which was still resting against the concrete. Clutched tightly in his stiff, frozen fingers was his phone.
The screen was cracked, but it was still glowing faintly, casting a dim light on his lifeless hand.
My stomach did a violent flip. I stumbled backward, my boots slipping slightly on the wet pavement. I felt a wave of intense nausea wash over me, the urge to throw up rising rapidly in my throat.
I had to get out of here. I had to breathe.
I forced my way backward through the crowd, my hands shaking uncontrollably as I broke free of the suffocating circle of students.
I stood near the brick wall of the gymnasium, gasping for fresh air, trying to block out the sight of Josh's shattered body.
It wasn't a prank. It wasn't a joke.
As I spun around, trying to find a way back to the front gates, my eyes locked onto a figure standing at the edge of the courtyard, completely removed from the panicking crowd.
Luke.
He was leaning against a concrete pillar, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his leather jacket zipped up against the morning chill. He wasn't looking at the dead boy.
He was staring directly at me.
His grey eyes were dark, carrying a heavy, knowing expression that sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through my veins.
He had warned me. Yesterday, in the alcove, he had told me to leave.
Luke held my gaze for a fraction of a second. Then, without a word, he turned on his heel and began walking toward the old greenhouse at the far edge of the campus—an abandoned, overgrown structure that students rarely visited.
It was a silent command. He was asking me to follow him.
I hesitated, my heart hammering against my ribs. I should run to the front office. I should call the police. But the police didn't know about the app. They didn't know what Josh had said yesterday.
Just as I took a step toward the direction Luke had gone, a frantic voice behind me caught my attention. I stopped, turning my head slightly.
Standing just a few feet away were two of Josh’s friends from yesterday—the same boys who had laughed at him near the trophy cases.
One of them was clutching his hair, his face pale as paper, his voice cracking with pure terror.
"He wasn't lying," the boy choked out, his eyes wild as he stared at the ground. "He showed me his screen. He got a message from the app. It... it told him he was next. It predicted this."
My breath hitched.
Slowly, with trembling fingers, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I tapped the screen. The device woke up instantly, bypassing my lock screen altogether.
The black app, NEXT, was no longer a blank icon.
A notification was plastered across my screen in that same bone-white, jagged font.
NEXT HAS CHOSEN.
JOSHUA MILLERSBURG: COMPLETED.
A sudden, blood-curdling scream erupted through the damp morning air, shattering the tense silence of the school yard.
AAAAAARGGHHH!!!
I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat…
