The hallway behind the curtains was suddenly drowned in the angry chorus of their classmates. Voices rising, overlapping, echoing.
Carter staggered backward, hitting the wall as if physically struck by the weight of their words. His breath came out shallow and panicked. "They're... they're blaming me," he whispered, dazed.
"Of course they're blaming you!" Ivy snapped, almost hysterical. "You dragged her up there! You humiliated her!"
"You helped!" Carter fired back. "You brought the distortion mic! You started the whole sabotage!"
Ivy's face turned ghost white. "Don't you dare pin this on me!"
"Oh, I will," Carter hissed. "I absolutely will!"
But their argument was smothered by another voice from the audience, loud and furious: "You bullied a professional singer and thought no one would find out?!"
Then another: "He's finished! Completely finished!"
Carter's legs nearly buckled. He felt it now: the shift. The crowd that once cheered for him had turned into a swarm of wolves—teeth bared, circling the scent of blood.
The applause he once fed on had curdled into fury. The admiration had collapsed into disgust. And for the first time in his life, the golden boy of Dalton High realized something terrifying: he no longer had control. Not over the room, not over the narrative, not even over himself.
His hands shook uncontrollably. Sweat beaded along his forehead. His throat tightened as if invisible fingers were choking him.
Ivy backed away from him, refusing to make eye contact. Mason stepped even farther, suddenly desperate to distance himself from Carter.
And outside, the reactions grew louder: shouts, accusations, the buzz of a crowd ready to tear him apart.
But all of it, all the anger, all the humiliation, was nothing compared to what came next. Because through the growing thunder of outrage, Mason's phone buzzed violently in his hand.
Notifications: hundreds, thousands.
He glanced down, his face drained of blood. "Carter," Mason stammered. "The video... it's..."
Carter swallowed hard. "What about it?"
"It's online," Mason whispered. "It's already online. People are sharing it everywhere."
Ivy gasped sharply. Carter's pulse stopped.
"And dude," Mason continued, voice cracking, "it's blowing up."
The hallway spun, the air thinned, the walls closed in. The worst part wasn't the students inside the auditorium. It wasn't the teachers. It wasn't even the parents. The worst part was the world outside—the world that had just watched him humiliate a national vocal instructor on stage. The world that wasn't going to forget. The world that wasn't going to forgive.
And as Carter pressed a shaking hand to his forehead, he understood with sickening clarity: his downfall was only beginning, and the force that would drag him all the way down was social media.
The moment Mason's trembling voice confirmed the video had gone online, the damage spread faster than any of them could comprehend. It didn't travel quietly; it detonated.
Within minutes, Dalton High became an echo chamber of buzzing phones, glowing notifications, and gasps ricocheting from hallway to hallway. Even students who hadn't attended the ceremony were now sprinting out of classrooms, shoving phones into friends' faces, shouting: "Have you seen this?!" "Oh my god, Carter is done!" "No way, that's Lena?! Dude, she shattered the sound system!"
The cafeteria monitors flickered as students AirPlayed the video onto the TV screens. Lockers slammed open and shut as students darted across the hallways to show others. Teachers tried to confiscate phones, but ended up watching the clip themselves—stunned, speechless, humiliated on Carter's behalf.
The footage was brutal: Cut number one: Carter dragging Lena on stage by the wrist. Cut number two: His voice dripping with mockery as he threatened her into singing. Cut number three: The distortion mic Ivy had waved at her. Cut number four: Lena's first note—clean, effortless, breathtaking. Cut number five: Carter's mic erupting in horrific feedback while she hit a flawless high note that sent the room silent. Cut number six: Ms. Cole revealing who Lena really was.
Students watched the video again and again, each replay stoking the firestorm. The comments under the clip on DaltonNet, the school's internal social platform, exploded: "Carter is done." "You bullied a national coach?!" "No way we let him get away with this." "Lena is a legend." "Justice for Lena."
But the moment that shifted everything came 23 minutes after the video hit the local feed. A notification popped up on thousands of screens simultaneously: Reposted by Harmony Fest Community Network.
Then another: Liked by Harmony Fest National Champions Group.
And then the one that sent a collective shiver through the entire school: Official statement: We are aware of the public humiliation of a recognized national vocal instructor, Miss Lena Russell. We request an immediate internal investigation regarding the misconduct by student Carter Hail.
The air in Dalton High changed. Clips were still circulating, but now with a different tone: more serious, more condemning, more dangerous for Carter.
The Harmony Fest repost meant something enormous: Lena wasn't just known, she wasn't just respected—she was connected to a national organization with influence, recognition, and the eyes of every major performing arts group in the region.
In the teachers' lounge, mugs of coffee were set down mid-sip as educators read the repost with widening eyes. In the front office, parents waiting to pick up their children stared at their screens, whispering. In classrooms, students watched the notifications roll in with growing disbelief.
"Dude, Harmony Fest is watching this." "She trained their winner. That means she's legit. Like, crazy legit." "Carter picked the wrong target."
Meanwhile, Carter's phone vibrated violently in his hand. Notification after notification, each one hammering another nail into his sinking reputation.
He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't escape the nightmare unfolding across every screen in the building.
Ivy, shaking, leaned against a locker. "This is getting out of control."
"It already is out of control!" Mason snapped.
Carter squeezed his eyes shut, gripping his phone so tightly it nearly cracked. "It's fine. It'll die down. It'll—"
A scream echoed from the other side of the hallway: "Oh my god! Harmony Fest commented directly on the post!"