And we’re in.

Inside, I’m glad to see that most of the school is unlit, and empty. Full of shadows.

“You did not design this dungeon.” I grin at Troo.

They nod, but their head’s on business. “Remember that our high school selves are our disguise. Use that. But I need my heroes here tonight. Do your thing, and we’ll meet in the ballroom; make sure we’ve an alibi.”

We grin at each other, all adrenaline and tight-wound nerves. Justice and I are on office duty, the others head for the bathrooms.

And as we separate, I hear the heroes’ first rule in my head: never split the party.

*

It’s easy. So easy I wonder how every school hasn’t already faced this: students putting everything to rights.

The Key of Justice works like a small, silent charm.

“Guard the door,” Justice whispers, already powering up computers.

It’s loud. The roaring of a fan and an engine, in a quiet room. Visible too: there’s a tiny window in this door, and a computer screen at night is brighter than a torch.

“I grab paper and some Blu Tack,” I whisper. “I cast darkness on the party.”

Justice manages a smile. “You no longer have disadvantage. Stealth restored… You’re in.” He slides over to the second desk and I take his place. On my flash drive, every last policy, procedure and gender reference has been dragged into the current day, to copy, paste and publish.

Justice, for his part, is hacking into something bigger, speaking tongues the machines understand, coaxing them to include ‘X’ as a third gender column in school records, and ‘replacing all’. For a time, at least, all our peers will be the same. Until someone puts it back, there is no binary here.

And just like that, there’s space for me. Like magic.

Down the hall, friends and lovers dance the night away; play out every clichéd drama. Totally oblivious.

And every second, every page I fix, I wonder how Sabre and Tro are getting on, out there in the open.

*

Tro and Sabre haven’t shown.

The punch bowls sit empty, plastic cups are everywhere, scattered almost like beans by a rabble searching for some magic, and someone’s mixed the last of the Iced Gems and crisps together to create a salty-sweet abomination.

The supervizing teachers are eyeing the sound system, ready to call the night to an end.

Our whole school has changed from the inside out and not one of these people knows it yet.

Beside me, Justice chews his bottom lip, glances at the door.

“Never split the party?” I ask. He nods.

I’m sure we’re conspicuous. Sure some guard-troll lies in wait. But there’s nothing.

…then we hear it, just beyond the wall of noise, the hasty whirring of a drill.

We round the corner and they’re there. Frozen at the sight of us, Tro wielding an electric drill and an ALL GENDERS sign, and Sabre pushing into what was once a boys’ bathroom, wearing rubber gloves and carrying a sanitary bin.