My High School Survival Guide

I woke up to find that my spot for the field trip had been canceled. The person who canceled it was Chloe, our new transfer student. She was fashionable, wealthy, and had been popular with everyone since the day she arrived. As soon as I walked into the classroom, Chloe put on a show. "Emma, those plans of yours are so outdated. Who wants to go to a place like that for a field trip? If we're going, it needs to be somewhere exciting." She claimed my itinerary was too rigid and old-fashioned. She rejected my plan to camp at a safe, state-run park—a plan I had finalized after three days of researching budgets and everyone's personal preferences. I had run back and forth multiple times to secure the transportation and catering, even using my family's connections to put down deposits so we could get a better rate. I looked at Tyler, our class representative—and my boyfriend. He avoided my gaze. "Emma, your plan really is too boring. We'd all rather follow Chloe." I took a look at the wild riverbank she had chosen. I recalled news reports from just a few days ago about wild animals and a drowning incident in that area. I wondered if they could handle the "excitement" they were so desperate for. "Fine," I said. "It's all yours now." "Finally, you're being reasonable." Chloe scoffed and went back to planning the trip with the others. Tyler seemed like he wanted to say something, but I held up a hand to stop him. "Tyler, let's break up." "You're breaking up with me over this?" He frowned. "Yes. And this isn't just a small issue; it's a matter of trust," I said calmly. When I first transferred to this school, Tyler helped me settle in and convinced Mr. Miller, our class adviser, to let me help organize activities. Mr. Miller had signed off on my state park plan with two teachers and a parent volunteer lined up as chaperones. I hadn't let Mr. Miller or my classmates down; I negotiated discount after discount, kept the costs reasonable, and used my own resources to ensure everyone had the best experience possible. But lately, things had started to change. A week ago, Chloe and her new group nearly blew the activity budget by several thousand dollars during a performance rehearsal. I mentioned it to them, only to be reprimanded by the teacher that evening and told to mind my own business. Three days ago, she took some classmates to a five-star hotel and insisted on ordering expensive wine. When I stopped her, she started holding a grudge. Behind my back, people began calling me a "control freak." Not long after, my phone buzzed with a notification from the class group chat. [Starting today, Chloe is coordinating the field trip.] The chat exploded with cheers and congratulatory messages—many of them from people who used to be my friends. I sighed. I felt like I was finally seeing them for who they really were. Soon after, Ms. Baker, who managed the campground at Pine Creek State Park, called me. "Hey, Emma. I heard someone else is in charge? Are you still coming?" "Could you hold the campsite and gear for three more days, through Friday night? The school needs to confirm the booking and pay the balance by then. If nobody calls, you can release it." Then I asked Mr. Evans to hold the bus until the same deadline. He messaged back: "Why the hold, Emma? Is the trip off?" "I'm off the committee. I've given Chloe both your numbers and the payment deadline. Mr. Miller or someone from the school will have to confirm." He quickly sent back a confused emoji. "You've been replaced?" "I'm worried this field trip isn't going to end well." I sent back a helpless shrug emoji. He replied: "Don't worry, Emma. You know how close I am with your family. Just give me a call if you need anything in the future." Seeing those messages, I finally calmed down. At least the people I had worked with still stood by me. "Emma." Chloe pushed the door open and walked in. She looked at me sorting through my receipts. "Cleaning up?" "Make sure you do a thorough job. And clean the whiteboard while you're at it—consider it practice for your future chores." "Take your time. That's about all you're good for in this class!" I gave her a sidelong glance and ignored her. Seeing no reaction, she got irritated. She stepped up and pointed at me. "Who do you think you are? You're just a coordinator. If I want your job, it's mine." I chuckled. "Is that so?" "Does Mr. Miller know about this switch?" Mr. Miller had been away at another school for a conference, so he hadn't been around. I figured he had no idea I'd been removed. He trusted me to handle the events; he wouldn't just replace me like that. She looked guilty for a second. "My uncle is the dean. He told the parents he was fine with me taking over. They're going with my plan, so what are you going to do about it?" "Don't try to scare me with your cryptic nonsense. You're just bitter because no one wants you anymore!" I smiled. "Sure. I just hope you've planned everything properly." She wanted to retort but just stuttered, unable to find the words. I continued: "Are you sure you can handle this? There are so many people in this class. Some have health issues, some have food allergies, and you need to verify the credentials for the campsite and the vehicles. Have you checked all of that?" "Chloe, having a big idea isn't the same as having a plan." With that, I gathered my box of receipts and started to leave. She shouted in frustration, "Emma! I'll make you crawl back to me later!" "Before you leave, give me the activity folder and all the receipts!" I handed her the folder. The contact numbers, Friday deadline, receipts, and budget sheet were all on the first page. The school office still held the class funds. "Good luck." As I walked out of the classroom, not a single person stood up for me. I wasn't sad anymore. I was just curious: once I was gone and there was no one left to clean up her mess, how would this field trip actually turn out?On my way home, my phone kept pinging. I opened the class group chat, and messages flooded in. I scrolled up to the beginning. Chloe was busy making empty promises. "I've always believed that the new generation needs a new way of doing things. We're classmates—we have the energy to do more." "We're doing the riverbank on Saturday. I sent the details to the parents. If we plan it ourselves, we can go without waiting for Mr. Miller to sign off." The replies were filled with sycophants and veiled jabs at me. Soon, I was added to a new work group. Sophie, who always knew whom to flatter, was the first to speak up. "Chloe is a hundred times better than Emma! At least she doesn't force us to listen to the school." The others chimed in: "Seriously, I'm so glad she's gone. Always limiting this and that—what was the point?" "I agree. Emma was such an old lady, always bossing everyone around." "With a lead like this, I'd run errands for her forever." "Exactly! And she's so generous. She bought the whole class milk tea last time." The chat was on fire, with an endless stream of comments trashing me. Then, I accidentally clicked on an emoji. The next second: [You have been removed from the group.] Seeing all this, I couldn't say I didn't care. The school guidelines were there for everyone's safety. I'd been trying to look out for my classmates, and now it was clear they resented me for it. I checked the class feed, and one post caught my eye. "No one knows how it feels to be looked down on forever. Now, the person who was always high and mighty is finally gone." Someone replied: "Great, she's finally out." She replied: "I know, right! No one knows how much I had to put up with." I let out a bitter laugh. Ava was my best friend. I felt bad for her financial situation, so I often covered for her. When Chloe took over, she was the first to suck up to her. Turns out, she'd been resentful of me for a long time. Fine. I'd just focus on my own life and my studies. Everything else was no longer my concern. When I got home, I left all the field trip groups and set my phone to Do Not Disturb. I'm a perfectionist; if I take something on, I give it my all. But now, I was finally letting myself off the hook. Over the next few days, I went to classes and went home. I didn't hear another word about the trip. After being under so much pressure, I finally had the energy to focus on myself.The next two days, I didn't ask about the trip at all. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious, but I kept the group chat muted and stopped checking my social media. Saturday at 7:00 AM, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I opened my eyes and grabbed it. As the screen lit up, messages poured in like a dam breaking. The class chat and social media feeds were flooded with photos. Chloe and the others had departed. The first photo was of Chloe at the campsite entrance. Two tents were pitched on the riverbank. She and Tyler were standing together making heart shapes with their hands against a gray, gloomy sky. The caption read: "New beginnings, new vibes. Day one without the old lady bossing us around." Sophie shared it, then posted a selfie from inside the shuttle, angling the camera so we could see the bus behind her. The paint was peeling and the windows were tinted. There was a phone number on a paper sign, but no company name. Mr. Evans's charter quote had included proof of insurance, driver information, and an emergency contact. I wondered what Chloe's driver had shown her. This looked dangerous. Her caption: "No one's checklist on this bus—the air even tastes sweeter." Leah posted the most, a full nine-photo grid. The middle one showed everyone holding milk tea around a campfire with a grill roaring. I couldn't spot a single teacher in the photos. The adults on Mr. Miller's list had volunteered for the state park trip. Dry grass was piled high all around—it was a fire hazard waiting to happen. The caption: "This is what a field trip should be! No checklists, no one hovering—this is the life." I scrolled down, photo by photo. Ava had posted one, too—a panoramic view of the campsite with the caption: "Finally free." Chloe replied with a hug emoji. Sophie wrote, "My girl gets it," and Leah replied with a string of laughing emojis. I zoomed in on one of the photos. The tents were pitched less than fifteen feet from the water. I knew that riverbank. When it rained, the water rose quickly, and the area would be submerged. The tents were packed too tightly; if something went wrong, they wouldn't even be able to run. There were no rain covers overhead and no drainage ditches at their feet. I checked the weather report. Rain was forecast for the afternoon—heavy local downpours in the mountain area. I typed a message in the group chat: "That spot on the riverbank will flood if it rains. I suggest moving to higher ground." I stared at the screen for a few seconds, then deleted it, letter by letter. I knew how the group would take it. I forwarded the photo and the forecast to Mr. Miller instead and told him exactly where they'd pitched the tents. I got up, went to the kitchen, baked a tray of cookies, and posted a photo: "Rainy days are best for baking and sleeping in." Ten minutes later, Sophie commented: "Jealous, aren't you?" A few seconds later, Leah commented: "We're having so much fun." Then Ava posted something. She didn't comment on mine; she made her own post—a selfie with the tents in the background: "Some people just can't stand seeing others happy. Too bad, we're having a great time." Sophie liked it immediately, Leah followed with "Hahaha," and Chloe left a heart emoji. I flipped my phone face down on the table and went back to kneading my dough. At 2:00 PM, Chloe posted again—a photo of everyone holding skewers. The caption: "Cheap and fun. This is how you do a field trip." The likes flooded in. At 4:00 PM, the rain started. The group chat exploded.