When Chen Mo spoke, none of the students by the bulletin board turned around.
No one was in the mood to look at him.
The temporary notice had been taped up in a hurry. Its corners curled up, fluttering in the draft from the hallway, flap after flap.
Temporary adjustments to off-campus work-study placements.
Partner businesses have suspended acceptance of students.
Transportation subsidy reviews postponed.
The three lines together looked very bureaucratic, very calm, very much like something someone sitting in an office had written, then casually clicked save and publish.
But posted on the bulletin board, it was like someone had tossed a block of C4 into the school hallway.
Chen Mo looked at the lunch voucher in the boy's hand beside him.
The paper had been crumpled in his grip.
The boy stared down at his phone, a message sitting on the screen.
Don't come in today.
No exclamation mark.
No explanation.
No "sorry."
That made it even more Gotham.
Gotham couldn't even be bothered to type a few extra words when putting you out of work.
Or rather, getting a notice that you were out of work was already very progressive.
Chen Mo put his phone away.
His own phone was still vibrating, his news article gaining traction, comments coming in one after another.
All the bustle was on the screen.
The hallway was still quiet.
So quiet that the sound of the notice's curling corners seemed particularly annoying.
Chen Mo had just reached out to press the tape back down when a voice came from beside him.
"You saw it?"
Barbara stood beside him.
She had her backpack on, her hair tied a little more casually than usual, faint shadows under her eyes, as though she hadn't slept much last night.
She looked normal.
She was