The door shut behind him with a click that felt louder than it should have.
Just him. And them.
Three girls. All seated already -- across the narrow conference table. Folders in front of them. Bottled water. Perfect posture. Like they were waiting on a presentation he forgot to prepare.
He didn't speak.
Didn't sit.
Didn't blink.
The tallest one -- Naomi -- tapped a pen against her notepad twice before leaning forward.
-- So. Ethan.
-- Where. Were. You?
No anger in her voice. Just rhythm. Like a metronome of judgment.
He opened his mouth, closed it again. Then:
-- I had... stuff. Family stuff. I tried texting--
-- Lie, -- said Jasmine.
She didn't even look at him. Just scribbled something and underlined it.
-- You said you'd finish slides two through five, -- added Mia.
-- You sent us a meme instead.
Ethan swallowed.
-- I thought we had more time.
Naomi exhaled through her nose.
-- You thought wrong.
He tried a laugh.
-- Look, I'll fix it. I'll do the whole next project, okay? You can even--
-- Sit, -- said Jasmine.
His legs obeyed before his brain did.
The seat was cold.
Mia reached into her backpack. Pulled out a single yellow folder. Slid it across the table.
-- That's a printout of your texts, by the way.
Naomi followed it with her own:
-- This one's our chat history. Timestamped.
Jasmine:
-- And this is our revised presentation.
-- Without your slides.
He stared at the pile. Then back at them.
Naomi smiled. Small. Flat.
-- We don't want an apology.
-- We want balance.
Mia stood up first.
Walked around the table. Calm steps.
Then Naomi.
Then Jasmine.
They closed in like clock hands moving to midnight.
Ethan shifted in his chair.
-- Guys, come on. This is stupid. It's just a group project--
Mia leaned down.
-- We presented without you.
Naomi:
-- We answered questions without you.
Jasmine:
-- And now...
A pause.
-- You feel without us.
She didn't wait for a response.
Her knee came up fast. Sharp. Direct.
THUMP.
He gasped -- eyes wide -- body doubling forward in reflex.
Jasmine stepped back like it was a gym move. Mia caught his shoulder before he could fully bend. Held him steady.
Naomi crouched to eye level.
-- Now we talk.
Her voice was gentle. Terrifyingly gentle.
-- You're going to hold them.
He blinked.
-- What?
-- Your balls, Ethan. With both hands. Right now.
He didn't move.
Mia grabbed his wrist, brought it down.
Naomi did the other.
Between them, they forced his palms down -- cupping -- until he was holding himself.
-- Tighter, -- said Jasmine from behind.
He flinched.
-- Like you're guarding your last excuse.
His hands trembled.
Then:
Mia struck.
Palm-first. Quick and loud.
The impact rippled up his arms.
He yelped. Eyes shut. Legs kicked once.
Naomi didn't react.
-- Say it.
-- What--
Another slap. Jasmine this time.
-- Say what this is for.
His throat was dry.
-- F-for... skipping?
Naomi shook her head.
-- Wrong. That one was for lying.
Jasmine again.
-- The next is for laziness.
Mia took position.
-- This one's for leaving us to clean your mess.
He tried to pull away.
Didn't work.
CRACK.
His whole body jerked. Hands still in place. His own grip turned against him.
He made a sound that wasn't quite a scream. Wasn't quite a sob.
They let it settle.
Then Jasmine leaned in and whispered:
-- You're going to remember this when your next group asks what you bring to the table.
He couldn't answer.
Could barely breathe.
Naomi looked at the wall clock.
-- Five more minutes until dismissal.
Mia nodded.
-- Just enough time for the finale.
He didn't know what that meant.
Not yet.
