𝙎𝙊𝙈𝙀𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙄𝙎 𝙊𝙁𝙁. Ever since Miles got bit by that strange spider, his head has been spinning, his hands sweaty, and he's extremely paranoid. He considers raising his concerns to a teacher just in case the spider was poisonous, but something in him tells him to keep it to himself. Hopefully he doesn't die on this field trip.

Miles tries to keep it cool around everyone and just follows behind his class mates as they follow a tour guide spewing random facts no one really cares about, and apparently Taryn has the same idea. She's still acting suspicious, but Miles doesn't have time to worry about her. He could literally be dying at this moment.

It's probably all in my head, Miles tells himself. I'm fine. I'm just overreacting.

A kid a few meters away laughs loudly. Miles jumps and spins around at the noise, the sound vibrating in his ear drums.

When his eyes land on the giggling girl being tickled by her father, he takes a deep breath.

Calm down.

He rubs his temples and turns back to the group. His eyes jump around the backs of heads of his classmates until they lock with a pair of brown eyes. He quickly looks away when he catches Taryn staring at him.

She doesn't look away. She can't help it, though; Miles is acting so weird, and if anyone in the room should be, it should be herself. He's not the one planning on graffitiing the same pristine walls where Vincent van Gogh's "Starry Night" and Andrew Wyeth's "Christina's World" hang.

The tour guide leads the class into another room full of sculptures. Taryn takes the opportunity to slip away from the crowd.

Miles notices, but he doesn't really care what the loner girl is up to because he thinks he's actually dying. His vision gets wonky as he pretends to observe a sculpture the guide talks about.

What is wrong with me? What was wrong with that spider? Miles thinks as he wipes the sweat from his forehead. Why are my thoughts so loud?

"You okay, man?"

Miles's head snaps up at Ganke, who is watching Miles with a furrowed brow.

Miles wipes the sweat away again, but the sweat under his armpits shows as he lifts his arm. "Yes."

Ganke cocks his head to the side. "You're really sweaty."

"Not really."

"Oh." Ganke frowns and glances back around at his new friends crowded around and flirting with a pretty girl with a  MoMA shirt that reads STAFF on the back. He looks down at Miles. "Okay then. See you around."

He turns, his eyes lingering on Miles, and returns to his friends.

Miles rubs his forehead and wills himself to calm down. Just as he starts to get himself under control, one of the students of the field trip claps as they laugh at something their friend said. Miles startles, then groans.

This is going to be a long trip.

Taryn peers around a corner. No staff in sight. Perfect.

The exhibit is completely empty, granted it's not a very popular exhibit. There are a few paintings on the walls and a few sculptures in the middle of the room, but they're not as famous as many of the other pieces in the museum. This room is perfect for what she has planned.

First, before Taryn enters the room, she slips a blue Cubs ball cap over her dark brown hair to conceal her face from the cameras. Once she's done that, she takes a deep breath, and slides into the room.

Her footsteps sound like bombs going off. She cringes at every little noise she makes, even though people makes noises walking all the time. She keeps telling herself over and over You're not going to get caught, you're not going to get caught, you've never gotten caught before and you're not starting today.

She glances over her shoulder at the entrance of the exhibit before taking her backpack off and setting it on the floor next to a large white spot on a wall. There's two paintings on the wall, but they're so spread out that another could easily fit between the two. Taryn doesn't go for the spot between the two, however; she goes to the plain wall on the other side of a painting of old people in a woods and takes out her spray paint. She takes the tops off and shakes them. She grins.

Then, Taryn lifts the bright red can to the wall and presses down on the nozzle.

She works quick and in smooth strokes. Her time is limited, so she uses it wisely. She switches colors every few seconds, looking behind her during every swap to assure her chances of getting caught are slim to none. She reaches high and low to paint her masterpiece. It spreads from one wall to the other in a matter of minutes, the bright colors contrasting the boring neutrals of the room and other art pieces on display.

She loses herself in her work, but she feels the most like herself in this moment. Taryn feels free, she feels alive, she feels real. She doesn't have any expectations to worry about but her own.

When she's finished, Taryn takes a step back and takes a second to admire her work. It's easily her best so far.

She doesn't waste any more time and quickly packs her things back up before exiting the exhibit, stuffing the hat back into the front pocket of the backpack. She notices the paint on her index fingers and wipes them on her undershirt.

Her footsteps echo down the hall as she tries to find her classmates. She passes multiple old couples and avoids all eye contact.

But she can't stop the smile from creeping onto her face again and the slight skip in her step.

She can't believe she actually did it, and successfully got away with it.

Taryn goes through exhibit after exhibit before she locates her school. They're all milling about in the front room, ready to leave. The majority of the students sit on the steps of the grand staircases that lead to a second level.

The girl, paint still staining her fingers, casually weaves her way back into the group as if she never even left. A teacher's eyes linger on her for an extended amount of time, and at first Taryn starts to worry that the teacher noticed her absence, but then the teacher looks away and checks his watch.

Taryn looks around and spots Miles. At the same time Miles was looking around and just so happened to meet Taryn's eyes.

What's wrong with him? Taryn wonders, studying his uneasy figure from a distance.

What's wrong with her? Miles thinks, then asks himself, Wait, am I saying this stuff out loud?

Miles looks at the people around him.

Can people hear me? HELLO!

Miles winces.

Ouch, okay, not a good idea, but I don't think anyone can hear me.

Taryn shakes her head and looks away. He's probably just not feeling well. There have been multiple cases of the flu at the school lately, so it's not impossible that's he could be sick.

A teacher announces that they're going to go get lunch, and Taryn couldn't be happier to leave. She wasn't caught yet, but that doesn't mean she won't be later. The sooner she leaves, the better.

Miles trips over his own feet as he follows the crowd. His hands shoot out as he falls into the wall. A few students spare him a glance, but that's it. Miles takes a deep breath and starts to lean away from the wall, but ends up slipping and falling back into the wall as his hands flat against the wallpaper don't move.

His thoughts are a jumble of confusion as he stands and tries to tug his hands off the wall. He feels his skin sticking to the surface, but they don't budge.

Stop sticking! Miles pulls harder.

There's a tear, then Miles falls back onto his bottom. He slides against the linoleum floors from how hard he was pulling. A student almost trips over him, but they jump out of the way and walk past him in time.

Miles looks down at his hands. His eyes widen at the floral wallpaper stuck to his fingertips.

WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?!

A security guard walks by. Luckily, he doesn't look down at the boy on the ground with pieces of the wall on his hands.

Miles scrambles to get to his feet and quickly blends into the crowd filing out of the art museum before he can get caught. He shoves his hands in his pockets and peers over his shoulder. He watches as the security guard spots the wallpaper missing from ten different spots on the wall. When the security guard looks up, surveying the crowd of students, Miles ducks his head and turns back around.

His converses hit the sidewalk outside. Miles looks down at his hands as he slips them out of his pockets. As he studies the wallpaper stuck to his fingertips and his skin—which doesn't look sticky in the slightest—and whispers under his breath, "What is happening to me?"