Chapter 3: Photo Ops and Power Plays

The class president seemed prepared for this and replied calmly:

[Other classes bought the basic version. The photo quality and flight height can’t compare to ours. We’re ahead of the curve.]

The student council’s roommate saw that Caleb was a bit upset and tried to comfort him:

"The drone will definitely be useful. Just wait, it’ll be fun, and the photos will be amazing."

Caleb sighed.

"Fine. I’m going to use it enough to get my $15’s worth, no matter what."

Derek Mason swore everyone could borrow it anytime.

But on the day of the talent show, the remote was glued to the class president’s hand.

After the event, over 1,600 photos were taken.

The student council alone had over 500 photos.

The class president and the student council together had more than 800 group shots.

The rest of the class got only a handful.

As soon as Aubrey got back to the dorm, she opened her favorite photo-editing app and started retouching her photos, complaining as she worked:

"Look at the class president, such a clueless guy—he made me look fat and ugly in these pics."

"Look at this one, I look like I weigh 300 pounds."

Caleb joked:

"Maybe that’s just what you really look like?"

Aubrey’s face darkened. I quickly tried to smooth things over:

"Hurry and finish editing so you can post them to your Instagram before everyone goes to sleep."

Aubrey loves selfies, and I’m always the first to like her posts on Instagram. She’s basically the dorm’s resident influencer, and her mood lifts as soon as she’s got a dozen likes.

Hearing me, she went back to editing her photos.

Watching her gush over photos taken by the secondhand drone I sold, I could barely hold back my laughter. It was almost poetic—my old drone, their new obsession.

But what I didn’t expect was that the day after the event—

The “$600” drone was gone.

[Whoever borrowed the drone, please return it immediately.]

Two hours passed. Still no drone.

Some guessed someone else took it, some thought it was left at the event site. There were rumors flying everywhere, everyone turning into amateur detectives.

Derek Mason posted again:

[Whoever borrowed the drone yesterday, please return it quickly. The instructor wants me to bring it for photos.]

Ten minutes later, still no reply.

The class president’s tone got sharper:

[The drone is for everyone. Don’t hog it—return it on time.]

Marcus, the student who’d opposed buying the drone from the start, jumped on it:

[Did our class’s drone get lost?]

[Wow, if it’s really gone, how do we handle the loss? I never even touched it—my $15 just disappeared?]

The class president was getting anxious, posting over and over asking for the drone.

But there was no response.

At noon, I got back from lunch and checked the group. I’d been tagged by the class president dozens of times.

My phone vibrated nonstop, buzzing against the desk like it was about to launch itself into orbit.

Everyone knows—when the class president singles you out in the group chat, it’s never good. I scrolled up through the flood of messages.

In one minute, I skimmed over 550 messages.

[@Jamie, hand over the drone.]

[You actually dare steal something bought with the student fund? Impressive.]