IF IT'S SO WRONG, WHY DOES IT FEEL SO RIGHT?

SNAPPED

 The tension in Ms. O'Connell's history classroom was a physical entity, taut and shimmering like heat haze off asphalt. It was the color of a dull, heavy bronze to Billie's synesthetic senses—a constant, suffocating hum.

Tuesday, the second day, began with a lecture on the Age of Exploration. Billie, wearing a massive, dark grey, slightly distressed hoodie over black cycling shorts and chunky sneakers—a look that screamed comfortable rebellion—was animated. She clicked through slides showing maps and ships, but her focus kept snagging on the corner of the room where Nala sat.

Nala had complied with Rule Number Three, but only technically. Her magnificent curls were gathered in a high, loose puff, secured by a single, brightly colored scrunchie. Strands escaped artfully around her face, giving her an air of defiant elegance. She wasn't chewing gum, but she was tracing intricate patterns on her notebook with a pen, the faint scratch-scratch a deliberate counterpoint to Billie's voice.

"So, these explorers," Billie said, gesturing enthusiastically to a map projected in vibrant, aggressive orange and seafoam green. "They weren't just looking for spices and gold. They were looking for the unknown. They were obsessed with the edge of the map, that blank space that represented potential, but also massive, terrifying risk."

Nala looked up, her honey eyes catching the light. "Isn't that always the case, Ms. O'Connell? The most interesting things are often the most terrifying." Her voice was low, cutting through the murmurs of the class.

Billie felt the familiar internal hiss of annoyance, quickly followed by the need to maintain professional equilibrium. She forced a measured breath. A slight, involuntary tightening of her jaw was the only visible tic.

"That's a philosophical take, Nala," Billie acknowledged, leaning back against the desk. "But in history, we have to look at the tangible consequences of that 'terrifying risk.' In this case, massive cultural devastation."

"But the drive, though," Nala persisted, her eyes holding Billie's. "That obsession with the blank space. Isn't that what makes history? People pushing past the line because they're too curious, or too arrogant, to stop?"

Billie's mind flashed: Nala's voice was a rich, deep indigo. Her question felt like a sharp, metallic silver knife. She was pushing, trying to find Billie's own blank space.

"Curiosity is essential," Billie conceded, adjusting the thick silver rings on her fingers. "Arrogance, however, usually ends in someone else suffering. That's a key theme we'll keep coming back to."

Nala smiled, slow and deliberate. "Right. So, the question is, was the explorer genuinely curious, or just arrogant enough to think the rules didn't apply to them?"

"Amari," Amelia whispered urgently from the desk behind Nala, "stop pushing her."

Nala ignored her, keeping her eyes locked on Billie.

Billie felt the heat rising in her cheeks. She knew Nala wasn't talking about Columbus anymore. She cleared her throat, a dry sound. "Let's stick to the 16th Century, Nala, not contemporary analysis of classroom dynamics."

"Understood, Ms. O'Connell," Nala replied, the picture of mock deference. The tension snapped back to its bronze hum, but now it was vibrating at a higher frequency.