She Planned a Prank Heist, I Called 911

On the third day after receiving our college acceptance letters, the most popular student in school, Natalie Simmons, proposes something in our class group chat. "We're all adults now, and we've already been accepted into college. We should do something exciting before the semester begins. Let's put on a show and stage a fake bank heist. It'll be fun." In my last life, I make 23 phone calls in a row and confiscate every prop they plan to use. No one gets hurt. But Natalie becomes the target of criticism from parents and teachers. She sinks into depression and eventually jumps into a lake. The entire class blames me and hates me. At our graduation dinner, they force a whole bottle of liquor down my throat. Then, they say they're taking me to the riverside to sober up. When I wake up, I'm in the river. Water fills my lungs, freezing cold. The news report summed up my life in five words. "Drunk Man Falls Into River." When I open my eyes again, my phone is vibrating. The very first message in the group chat is Natalie's proposal. This time, I don't say anything. I take screenshots and save copies. Chapter 1 This time, I didn't interfere. The class group chat exploded. After Natalie Simmons sent the PDF file, the chat filled with excitement. "Holy crap! It's finally here. I've been dying of boredom this summer." "We've already got our college acceptance letters. What can they do, kick us out?" "This is way more exciting than an amusement park." "Natalie, have you secretly been studying criminal psychology or something? This is hilarious." "With 23 water guns pointed at them, the bank tellers will probably drop to their knees." "I'm already laughing just imagining it. Anyone else?" The messages popped up so fast that the screen was practically jumping. I typed into the chat, "Count me out. A bank is a financial institution, not an entertainment center. Entering while wearing masks and carrying realistic-looking weapons can be considered a threat to public safety. "Having an acceptance letter doesn't mean a university can't hold you accountable. Admissions can be reviewed if a student commits an offense before enrollment. Please don't include me in the participant list." The chat went silent for about three seconds. Then, it became even noisier than before. "Ethan Brooks, are you okay? You've already been accepted into college. Why are you still acting like a teacher's pet?" "This is our last chance to do something together before graduating. Are you really going to say no?" "Does he really think colleges will monitor what we do during our summer break? What a joke." Others chimed in. "Ethan is always the party pooper." "What is he afraid of—getting scolded by a bank teller?" "We're about to start college and he's still such a wuss. How is he going to survive in the real world?" Then, Ryan Carter sent me a private message. "Bro, your spot in college is already secure. What are you so afraid of? It's just 30 seconds, tops. After we get it done, dinner is on me. Natalie said this is the last crazy thing we'll ever do. We've been friends since we were kids. Do me a favor and stop raining on everyone's parade, alright?" I didn't reply. Instead, I typed another message in the group. "I'm not participating. I won't be anywhere near the bank. Nobody gets to make that decision for me." The chat quieted for a few seconds. Then, Natalie replied, "Ethan, your college acceptance letter isn't going anywhere. When are you planning to start living your life?" I stared at the words "living your life" and nearly laughed. In my last life, I had thought that stopping them was the right thing to do. But in the end, did I get to live my life? Ryan sent me another private message. "The list already includes the whole class. Don't make yourself the exception." Then, Natalie posted a name list. There were 23 names on it, and mine was first. "Ethan Brooks: Team leader, responsible for shouting the first cue." I stared at that row of words, my grip tightening around my phone. "Remove my name." Natalie replied with a sad-face emoji and said, "Don't be like that. I already got a mask and water gun for you. This is the last time we'll all get to have fun together. Do you have to make things so awkward?" "Yeah. The class shirts have already been printed. The class president can't just back out." "Are you going to reimburse everyone for the shirts?" He's just putting on an act. Let's just drag him to the bank later. Once the mask is on, where can he run?" Another private message from Ryan arrived. "After all these years, you don't even trust me? If you don't show up on Friday, I'll come knock on your door myself." The group chat began flooding with my name, over and over. "Ethan, make a statement." "Don't chicken out." "Don't be difficult." "You must come." "You have to yell the cue." My phone vibrated constantly until my palm went numb. Then, Tina Young sent me a private message. "Ethan, everyone's really excited about this. Don't be the bad guy. Natalie has been staying up all night for days working on this plan. If you don't do it, she'll be really sad." I looked at the words "bad guy" and felt my stomach turn. In my previous life, I had been afraid of hurting Natalie's feelings and that someone would get hurt. That was why I called every parent, one by one. And what did I get in return? They killed me. Chapter 2 In the group chat, my refusal had already been buried under a flood of new messages. Everyone simply assumed I'd give in eventually. Dylan Sanders sounded excited. "I've done the research. The water guns are filled with water, not acid. It's performance art. Even if the cops show up, they'll just give us a lecture and send us home." Ryan sent a voice message, laughing maniacally and saying, "It'll be even more exciting if the cops show up. Imagine 23 of us getting pinned to the ground at the same time. That photo would be legendary. If we get called to the police station to give a statement, that would be even better." Someone else added, "With 23 college acceptance letters on the line, no one would dare to cancel all of them at once. It's a group activity, not an individual crime." "Banks are businesses. They're not going to pick a fight with a bunch of customers carrying water guns." "It'd be even better if it went viral online. Everyone would know who we are. We'd save a fortune on promotion." The more they talked, the more fired up they became. They could already see the fame, attention, and applause rushing toward them. This time, I didn't bother explaining. I saved all the evidence—the group chat messages, the PDF file, the voice messages, and the private messages. New messages kept pouring in. They had already made every decision for me. They thought they could outweigh me with numbers. Unfortunately for them, the one thing I was best at now was preserving evidence. I wanted to see whether the police could tell the difference between a real gun and a fake one from a distance. Natalie didn't just post her plan in the group chat. She even took the whole idea to social media. The caption read, "Exclusive First Release: Senior Class 3's Summer Fun Chaos Plan. Fake Bank Heist, Real Thrills." The photo collage showed black ski masks, spray-painted water guns, a handwritten participant list, and a screenshot of the bank branch's address. My name had been circled with a fluorescent marker. Comments quickly poured in. "Are you insane? Are you trying to get your college acceptance letter revoked?" Natalie replied, "What does a college acceptance have to do with what we do over the summer vacation? We're not even in school anymore." Another commenter asked, "Which bank? I want to watch." One of my classmates proudly replied, "Middleton Street Branch. 2:00 pm. Don't miss it." "You guys are really doing this?" Dylan answered, "Of course. See you in the livestream." Then, some accounts started asking unusually specific questions. "Which street does the bank's side entrance connect to?" "How far is the vault from the teller counters?" "How many of you will be there?" "What time exactly will you start? Are you entering from the front or side entrance?" Natalie didn't find any of it suspicious, treating it as growing engagement. She commented, "Stay tuned for the livestream, everyone. Friday, 2:00 pm. Don't miss it. Senior Class 3 is going to put on a great show." I saved every screenshot. Then, I called our homeroom teacher, Mr. Zeller. The moment he heard my first sentence, his tone changed. "More than twenty incoming college students are planning to rob a bank and livestream it?" I replied, "Yes." "This is ridiculous!" "Mr. Zeller, I'll send you the PDF file and all the screenshots." Mr. Zeller immediately said, "Don't confront them first. I'll verify everything right away." After I sent the files, I waited for 40 minutes until he called back. His tone was much softer as he spoke. "Ethan, I've spoken to Natalie, Ryan, Dylan, and several parents. They said they're just filming a prank video. The water guns contain water. The masks and robbery language are just for dramatic effect. The things said in the group chat were just jokes." I nearly laughed. "Does a joke require researching the number of security guards and estimating police arrival time?" Mr. Zeller fell silent for a brief moment before saying, "They're young. They just finished high school. It's normal to exaggerate a little." "Did you see the publicly posted location, schedule, and those suspicious comments?" "I did." "And you still think it's just a little exaggeration?" Mr. Zeller's tone turned serious. "Ethan, you're the class president, not a police officer. 22 students are telling the same story. You're the only one treating it as something serious. Have you considered that you might simply be overreacting?" Quietly, I started recording the call. "What if they actually go through with it?" I asked. "Then, you should guide them from within, not run straight to a teacher and make everyone look bad." "I've already refused to participate." "Refusing isn't a solution. You can't ruin the entire class' summer plan just because you personally don't like it." In the end, I was somehow the one in the wrong. After hanging up, I called my mom. "Mom, some people from Senior Class 3 are planning something at a bank. I can't stop them." Mom was silent for a moment. Then, she said, "Then, don't try to stop them. You just got your college acceptance letter. Don't drag yourself into their mess." "I'm going to report it to the police." Chapter 3 Mom's voice immediately turned anxious. "Why would you call the police? Why get involved in other people's kids' business? What if their parents come after us—" "Mom, if I don't report it and something happens, I'll be the first person held responsible. My name is the first on the participant list. In the plan, I'm listed as the team leader." Silence stretched on the other line before Mom finally said, "Just make sure you protect yourself." That afternoon, I went to the police station alone. The reporting officer, Officer Foster, looked to be in his 40s. By the time I finished explaining everything, his brows furrowed deeply. "22 incoming college students are planning to enter a bank wearing masks and carrying fake guns?" "Yes. This is their plan," I said as I handed over the PDF file and screenshots. Officer Foster flipped through the pages, his frown deepening. I placed several more screenshots of the suspicious accounts on his desk. "These people are asking about the side entrance, the vault's location, and the number of participants. One of them asked whether we'd enter through the front or side entrance. Another asked how far the teller counters were from the vault. Normal spectators just joining in on the fun won't ask questions like that." The way he looked at me changed. He asked, "Why did you notice all this?" I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I couldn't tell him the truth. I couldn't tell him that I'd already drowned in a river once in my last life. And I certainly couldn't tell him what I'd learned after my death. On the same day, a real armed robbery had taken place at the exact same bank branch. Two gunmen had been shot dead on the scene. One hostage had died, and three others had been injured. The image shown on the news featured the exact same bank entrance Natalie had put in her PDF file. "I'm just being cautious." Officer Foster looked at me for a long while before finally saying, "Alright. It's good to be cautious." He stood up. "Wait here. I'll direct this case to the Criminal Investigation Department." Then, he took my formal statement. "We'll handle surveillance and deployment from here. Don't confront them. Take care of yourself. Stay away from the bank." I nodded. After leaving the police station, I went to a copy shop and printed two copies of my statement. "I, Ethan Brooks, explicitly oppose and refuse to participate in any activity organized by Natalie Simmons at or around an operating bank location. Any attendance or possession of related props under my name is a misuse of my identity." I signed my name, then pressed my fingerprint. I kept one copy at home, and the other in my backpack. That evening, my phone blew up with calls from parents. "Ethan, did you report everyone to Mr. Zeller?" "Are you out of your mind? Your classmates just got their college acceptance letters, and now you're trying to get them in trouble?" "If my kid ends up with a criminal record and can't go to college, are you going to take responsibility?" Natalie's mother was the loudest of them all. "Ethan, I'm warning you—if Natalie gets questioned because of your report, your family will be hearing from me first." I started recording the call. "Mrs. Simmons, Natalie wrote the plan herself. Her name is on the PDF file. I simply let Mr. Zeller know about it." "So what if she wrote it? It's not a real robbery! You're the real culprit by reporting the matter." "If it's not a real robbery, what are you so worried about?" She choked on her words. Then, before hanging up, she spat, "Just you wait." Mr. Zeller also posted an announcement in the class notice group. "Summer activities have been organized collectively. Involved students are encouraged to consider the bigger picture and avoid creating unnecessary tension. Student leaders, especially, should take the lead in maintaining class unity." Ryan forwarded the message to me and said, "See? Even Mr. Zeller is being reasonable. Don't make the whole class turn against you." That evening, he waited for me outside my apartment building. "I know you're scared. On Friday, you don't have to say anything. You don't have to be on camera either. I'll stand in front of you. The livestream will only show you for a second. "Natalie is proud, and she spent a long time preparing for this. When you opposed her in front of everyone, she felt humiliated. Just do me a favor, okay?" In my previous life, I would've caved because I always believed old friendships carried weight—enough weight to outweigh principle. But after dying once, I learned that some friendships were just ropes others could use to tie me down. I said firmly, "I won't go. And no one else can make that decision for me." The smile on Ryan's face slowly disappeared. "Ethan, you're making things sound worse than they are." "I'm just clearly stating my boundaries." "Boundaries?" He let out a low laugh. "You're talking about boundaries with me?" I turned to leave. But before I could walk away, he slipped a piece of paper into the gap beneath my front door. On it was written, "Friday, 2:00 pm, Middleton Street Branch. If you don't come, the whole class will gather at your house." Ryan said, "Go ahead and try not to come." I bent down and picked up the note, took a photo, then sent it to Officer Foster. Officer Foster replied with two words. "Keep it." Chapter 4 That night, I backed up everything on my phone—the group chat logs, the PDF file, the screenshots, the voice recordings, my statement, and the police report receipt. At 1:00 am, I checked Natalie's social media account followers. The accounts that had been asking about the side entrance and the vault all had usernames made up of random characters, and none of them were more than a week old. One account used a profile picture of a pair of sneakers. They were a limited edition pair of shoes that resold for up to 40 thousand dollars. I zoomed in on the image, took a screenshot, and sent it to Officer Foster. Four minutes later, he replied, "We're looking into it. Stay alert." At 2:00 am, the class group chat was still finalizing details. "Formation follows the name list. If Ethan doesn't come, Ryan takes his spot." "Natalie stands in the middle for close-up shots." "Tina, is your phone fully charged for the livestream?" "Does anyone have Ethan's home address? I want to send him a wreath." The replies below were full of laughter. I simply screenshotted the last message too. I wasn't angry. I just felt sorry for my past self. They knew I had refused, but they simply thought my refusal didn't matter. At 1:00 pm the next day, outside the Middleton Street Branch, Senior Class 3 looked like a pack of monkeys released from a cage. 22 people wore matching black T-shirts with the words "Summer Fun Chaos" printed across the front in neon green. There were two black duffel bags by Natalie's feet. The moment she opened them, black ski masks and spray-painted water guns spilled into view. Each item was labeled with a student's name, and mine sat right at the top. Everyone crowded around to grab their gear. Some were putting on their masks and posing for selfies. Some were holding up water guns and making their own gunshot sound effects. Others were laughing so hard that they could barely stand. Tina stood nearby holding up a selfie stick. The livestream already had more than two thousand viewers. "Guys, we haven't even started yet, and we already have nearly three thousand viewers. Comment 'excited' if you can't wait for what's about to start at 2:00 pm!" Comments flew past faster than anyone could read. Then, Natalie picked up the set labeled with my name and walked over to me. "Ethan, this is the last time I'll ask. Are you in or not?" The crowd quieted. 22 pairs of eyes fell on me. Several people held up their phones, recording. I shook my head. Natalie smiled, then tossed the mask with my name on it toward me, saying, "Keep it as a souvenir then. You almost lived a little." The crowd erupted in laughter. I didn't catch it. The mask fell to the ground and rolled away in the wind. That was when I noticed the gray van parked across the street. Its engine was still running, and the last digits of the license plate were concealed beneath dried mud. One of the doors was slightly open. Through the crack, I saw a man inside. His head was lowered to his phone, the screen illuminating his face. On his feet were a pair of limited-edition sneakers, the exact same pair from the profile picture I'd seen the night before. I backed away to the flowerbed outside the bank. Then, I called Officer Foster. "Officer Foster, there's a gray van at my three o'clock. The guy inside is wearing the same shoes I sent you pictures of last night." His voice remained calm. "Got it. We're already here. Back away. The farther, the better." The 22 students entered the bank in small groups. The moment the doors opened, a gust of air-conditioning mixed with the sharp scent of disinfectant blasted out. Five or six customers were waiting in line. Behind the security glass, a teller was yawning. Ryan stood at the front of the group. He had one hand in his pocket, gripping a whistle. Natalie positioned herself in the middle of the lobby, holding her phone at chest height. Tina aimed the phone attached to the selfie stick at her side profile. Natalie made a "shh" gesture toward the camera. The livestream viewer count had already passed 15 thousand. Ryan blew the whistle. The shrill sound cut through the lobby like fingernails scraping across a chalkboard. At once, 22 people pulled on their masks and raised their black-painted water guns. "Don't move! This is a—" Before they could yell the word "robbery", the alarm behind the counter had already gone off. It wasn't a simple beeping alarm, but the kind that directly connected to the city's emergency command center. Outside, sirens blared throughout the entire Middleton Street. Ryan visibly froze. This was not what was planned at the five-minute mark in the schedule of the PDF file. He was still smiling, but the corners of his mouth had gone stiff. "Three… Two…" He never made it to "one". All four entrances to the bank burst open simultaneously. Officers in helmets and bulletproof vests stormed inside, black rifle barrels pointed at every corner of the lobby. "Everybody on the ground! Hands on your head! Don't move!"