In a little town, a little school was in a big uproar.

Despite its size, it's a prestigious academy for literature and the arts. With the exception of the disproportionate number of affluent students that, in some way or another, managed to worm their way into the academy's roster despite a lack of artistic or literary talents, it could be viewed as a typical high school.

After the conclusion of the four years spent at this little school, one could depart from the quaint, three-story building dated back to the early '80s with fond memories of art and literature competitions, popularity, or even that one time the cool kids asked you to join their karaoke outing.

Many memories like these are usually stored in a so-called "vault" of happy memories, or at least that's how some of the more questionable philosophers of even more dubious art clubs look at it. Those moments were assuredly fleeting, but in one of these vaults, they are forever preserved, until the day it gradually decays from old age. All of this is only natural, at least for someone favored by the gods of happenstance and more lenient occupation.

Yet, there is a chance that, instead, you leave that miserable, crumbling hellscape of solitude, having wasted those four years as an introverted jackass with nothing to show for it, save the countless nights you cried yourself to sleep from sheer loneliness.

As for that vault of memories? Well, that fell apart ages ago, and all the memories that were meant to go there were promptly discarded into a dark, all-consuming void of friendless days and cringe-filled nights, never to be thought of or heard from again.

Now, of these choices, which describe my current state of mind?

This wouldn't be a very interesting story if I said it was the former, would it? Fortunately for you, and not so much for myself, the latter fits my situation perfectly.

Hi, my name is Travis Moore, and I'm on the path of voluntary self-destruction. I'm a third-year student at this little school, and after three years, I hadn't any friends and not a single one of those priceless memories in my personal vault of happiness.

Don't get me wrong, it wasn't as if I tried to socialize with my classmates, and was tragically shunned by them for a detestable feature on my body, nor was I too introverted to socially interact with anyone. And no, it wasn't because I was the emo, permanently introspective type of guy with a fetishistic obsession for self-deprecation and loneliness.

I like to think of myself as a relatively normal person, so none of these are true.

In truth, it was my choice all along. Both to reject friends, as well as take the proverbial sledgehammer to my vault.

Though this begs the question of "Why?"

That's all too simple. There just wasn't enough time for them.

In the world I'm from, you rarely have a minute to spare wiping your ass after a hurried visit to the toilet, let alone the bottomless pits of time known as "friends". Harsh deadlines and late-night crunches tend to do that to student authors like myself.

That's right. I'm an author. A fantasy novelist to be exact, and a popular one at that.

As a youngster, my dream was to be a writer. My younger years were often spent reading the classics, rather than paying attention to what other children did. Unsurprisingly, my precocious interest in literature led me to choose the humanities rather than the sciences for my field of study in junior high. That then brought me to this small academy dedicated to the aspiring literature fanatic, where my quest to become a novelist began with a decision to write novels online alongside my studies.

Now, here I am, three years later.

My style of writing is mostly geared toward high school students, like myself. Several are digital, but recently my most popular title won a writing contest and with it the chance for hard copies. The sudden reward for my three years of self-sacrifice brought tears to my eyes.

Then came a horrendous lapse in judgment. After some weeks of blissful, solitary celebration, I, drunk on my sense of accomplishment, decided to announce to my readers that I went to that little school, in a little town where little idiots decided to make huge mistakes.

Clearly, this little stunt was the reason why the little school was in a big uproar. To the uninformed, this may not seem to have any meaningful drawbacks, so why was this a mistake? The answer to that will come in due time.

And so, the day after the big reveal came. From the moment I stepped through the academy's front gates among the throng of students, I could sense a wave of suspicious glances cast around me. Everyone was on high alert. I was aware that the contest would garner a lot of attention since the academy was a sponsor of the event, but I didn't believe it would cause this much tension.

My heart was singing with joy at the sheer power of my notoriety. Blinded by an immeasurable ego, I largely ignored the tense atmosphere throughout my first class, Science. After it finished, I was soon on my way to English class, where the highlights of the day would take place.

I practically skipped down the halls with glee. There were a couple of close calls where I nearly burst into laughter. I felt like the mightiest of delinquents, who could ravage the school all with a single post online. Fear me, faculty! Tremble before my might, student council! No amount of prestige gained from democracy or years of academic training can move the masses as a popular author can! Behold my mighty power!

With a regal flourish and crossing of one leg atop another, I took my seat at the back of the class. Obviously, this was standard fare for a royal prince among the beggarly populace of the academy.

As you might expect of me, a prestigious author, my experience laid low the difficulty of the class' material. It was so disappointingly easy, that instead of listening to the lecture, I would write down ideas for the next installments to my series' until the class period ended, which was the reason why I loved the back row so much.

But today, I set aside my outlining, my attention instead fixated on my fellow classmates' reactions.

I'm typically one of the earliest to come to class, and other than a select few was the earliest. But those that did arrive before me were the objects of my utmost attention.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see one of these early comers, Melissa, the class darling. Out of the one hundred and forty students that attended the academy, she was ranked number one in grades, athletics, and beauty. Her hazel eyes, smooth, immaculate black hair, and brilliant white smile had the power to bring boys to their knees, and her soft, spotless skin, long, slender legs, and ample chest moved the hearts of men to believe in God, for who else could design a creature with such a divine frame!

Her popularity, of course, also meant that there was no end to the line of potential suitors. Nearly every day, there would be a new love letter in her locker, and every week, another direct confession behind the school.

As for myself? That would be a hard pass. Not that I wouldn't mind trying it, as I was also a part of the Melissa fan club. But, in the unlikely event that I did manage to score her affections, it would only tighten my already constrained schedule, which is the reason why I never made any attempt at her. That said, nothing could make me happier than for her to be mine... ahem... but enough of my ramblings.

She was exchanging morning pleasantries with her circle of friends. Amid the idle chatter, I could faintly hear the name of my published novel mentioned. To the casual observer, my ensuing grin might have appeared odd. But inwardly...

Yes, talk up my writing more. It feeds me! It nourishes me! Shower me with your highest adulations! Sound the trumpets of the highest, for a god has descended upon mankind!

I leaned in to listen to their conversation more closely. The topic was about the main character of the story, Luke d'Tristania. No wonder they did, since I spared no effort in making him the heartthrob of all heartthrobs.

For context, I'll share a bit of the story with you.

Luke is a boy born to a wealthy lord in a world of magic. He has a tragic backstory where his parents die, and he is forced to live with an evil relative, who held a grudge against his parents' affluence and rejection of the branch family. This family had dark dealings with the underworld and demons, which was one of the reasons they were cast out.

Hated by this branch family, who sought to destroy him through assassination as he was the last living member of the d'Tristania family line, Luke suffered throughout his youth. However, before they could succeed in their assassination, he learns of their betrayal and manages to escape.

Embittered by the branch family's betrayal, he sought out enough power to destroy them. After many years of travel and experience, he meets Tuarine Dinant, an exiled noblewoman cast from the Dinant family. She was disowned for being "blind" and "worthless" by her parents, for she lacked Mana Sight, an ability that allowed members of her family to perceive the magic possessed by others as varying shades of color.

It is through Luke and Tuarine's relationship that he starts to realize that his hatred would only bring destruction to his newfound family, and his own sense of humanity. In the end, he manages to bring the branch family to justice, rather than senselessly destroying them.

And it was this character, that the girls were animatedly talking about.

"Isn't Luke such a cool character?"

"I know right! The way he stopped the Count's hand before it grabbed Lady Vodes is so amazing!"

"Totally wish I was in her shoes... so romantic...it's a shame she wasn't shipped with Luke..."

"And to think, the author is here, somewhere in this school!"

"Think it's a girl? It has to be, right? To make a dreamy guy like that, you'd have to be!"

The praise for my intricate character design pleased me to no end. I poured months and months into researching statistics on what personality traits girls liked to see the most in male protagonists. I probably lost a good deal of sleep on the nights I watched the comments roll in on every chapter over it too. The culmination of that time and data turned into the ultimate protagonist that could make any girl squeal in ecstasy, and if even one of those comments shat on my work, it would make all that effort I put forth null and void!

With that, I have recounted everything that occurred during the past three years of non-stop writing I took on. In truth, I could probably sum it all up in two words: writing and agonizing.

Suddenly, a red flag raised within my subconscious. There was something amiss with their conversation. While I lost myself in the praise the other girls had for Luke, Melissa, on the other hand, fell silent. She quietly listened to the opinions of her friends for quite some time, without interruption. Not a single word of praise or criticism left her divine lips.

The immediate vicinity around me was swallowed by a void of apathy. All my being was focused on Melissa's delayed response. All the extraneous details of the room and the impertinences that were her friends disappeared. I couldn't bear hearing a negative response from her. All my years of hard work were riding on the next sentence that came from her lips.

She nodded once, then twice. Her eyes closed.

Mine widened.

The conversation between her friends lulled, it was her chance to speak. My heart was about to burst from trepidation.

"Luke isn't cool at all."

The balloon that swelled in my chest popped. My heart and ego deflated in response to the daggers that flew from Melissa's mouth.

"What do you mean, he isn't cool?"

"Luke is amazing, what do you know, normie!"

She paused as her friends lashed out at her sudden interjection.

"Luke isn't cool at all. That's what I think." She casually interrupted their stream of objections, "The only cool thing about the novel as a whole is... is the author!"

Huh?

"What's that supposed to mean?"

My thoughts precisely. Get this girl an award for her perceptiveness.

"What, so you're saying you like the author? How lame. You know it's a girl, right?"

Melissa shook her head.

"Not a chance in the world. If I'm wrong, I'll eat my shorts after gym class, I'm that sure of it."

"So the author is a boy then? What makes you think that? They have to be a girl, right?"

I cracked open a bottle of water while I listened intently. Though I still had mixed feelings about her confusing response, this unexpected turn was interesting. I awaited her justification with bated breath.

"It's all in the writing. The author overanalyzes the feelings of the protagonist, as though they completely understand how men think..."

She pointed a finger at each of her friends in turn. I half expected her to loudly yell "Objection!" from the pose she struck.

"There's no way a girl could ever know that much about men, without being one! That's where I rest my case." She concluded, with a knowing, posh air reminiscent of the phrase "'Twas elementary."

The trio of friends fell into a murmuring, huddled group over the new revelation. They were in awe of Melissa's impeccable deduction. To be honest, I was fairly impressed too, by how she could tell the author had a male writing voice. Though more importantly, I was relieved that's all she meant by her somewhat confusing words. If she had shit on my work, I wouldn't have survived the shock.

Though it seemed Melissa wasn't finished yet. She stood, and straightened into her tallest pose. Her height was dwarfed, however, by her considerable chest, which she puffed to its greatest extent as she took in the deepest of breaths.

"I'm going to confess my love when I find him!"

Travis Moore. Deceased. Age: 17. Cause of death: Tragically died from accidental suffocation by bottled water after discovering that the most popular girl in class, Melissa, loved him.