Foreigner

Chapter 25: The Joker's Not Funny

The dorm lights are off, except for the small desk lamp burning beside me; it glows soft and gold. I sit backward on my chair, arms resting across the top, feet planted. Across from me, Christian lies half-propped on his bed, one leg bent, a towel slung low across his hips, water still glistening along his collarbone. His hair's damp, the ends curling where the air slowly dries them. He hasn't moved since I started talking.

"I broke into Matthews' office again," I say. "After I met Alex at the library."

Christian doesn't flinch. Just blinks—slow and still.

I keep going. "Alex's file is... messy. Anxiety disorder. Emotional detachment. History of panic attacks. Home life's a disaster. Mom works three jobs, never around. Dad walked out. He's on meds. The funny guy? That's just armor."

Christian exhales like he's tired but not surprised. "So what, you're gonna out him? For being sad?"

"No." I shake my head. "I'm not outing him. I'm letting him do it himself."

His brow furrows slightly.

"I found something else," I say, voice dropping. "He used to post these... audio logs. Years ago. No video, just his voice. Crying. Whispering. Screaming sometimes. Said things like 'They'll hate me if I'm not funny.'"

Christian stares at the floor for a second. Then back at me. "You're going to play one."

"Through the PA," I nod. "Everyone will suspect him. But no one will know for sure."

Silence again. Heavy this time. Thoughtful.

Christian sits up, legs swinging off the side of the bed, towel shifting slightly as he leans his elbows onto his knees. Water traces a path down his spine.

"What do you need me to do?" he finally asks.

I meet his eyes.

"When the announcement comes on," I say, "I need you to film his reaction. Get it clear. The moment it hits him. I'll handle the rest."

Christian doesn't even hesitate.

He just nods once and says, "Done."

And just like that, I have a teammate.

"But before that," I start again, gaining his anticipating gaze, "there's another step we need to take."

¤ ¤ ¤

Christian knocks on Nurse Penner's office door just as the hallway clock clicks to 8:00. Two short raps, then a pause—our signal.

I stay out of sight, pressed against the corridor wall, eyes fixed on the linoleum floor.

The door swings open with a sharp squeak of hinges.

"It's nearly curfew, Alvey," Penner says, annoyed before she's even seen his face. "What is it now?"

"There's a fight," Christian replies, low and steady. "In the gym. I didn't see it start—someone told me. Sounded bad. I thought you'd want to know."

A beat of silence.

"Jesus Christ," she mutters. "Who?"

"I think Dean's involved."

Another pause. Then the clatter of her clipboard, the jingle of keys, the squeal of rubber soles as she moves. Fast.

"You're coming with me," she snaps, already locking the office behind her. "Show me exactly where."

"Sure," Christian says, deadpan.

Their footsteps echo down the hall.

The door clicks shut.

Showtime.