Mars Colony Middle School

The first thing Jax learned about Mars Colony Middle School was that lockers could kill you.

Not on purpose. At least, not officially.

Jax floated down Corridor C, boots clicking softly against the magnetized floor, backpack bumping against his shoulder. Outside the long glass wall to his left, Mars stretched out in dusty red waves. A cargo rover crawled slowly across the plain like a metal beetle. Above it all hung the pale pink sky, thin and fragile.

“Don’t forget to seal it all the way,” his mom had said that morning, tightening his helmet strap before the walk to school. “One missed latch and—whoosh.”

She had made a dramatic vacuum sound that made Jax roll his eyes.

“I know, Mom,” he said. “I’m twelve, not oxygen-deprived.”

Now, standing in front of Locker 317, he wished he’d listened harder.

Locker 317 was a vacuum-sealed unit. Most lockers were. Mars Colony Middle School had been built in layers: pressurized halls, sealed classrooms, and storage units designed to survive pressure drops. The lockers were meant to keep personal items safe in case of an emergency.

They were also ridiculously hard to open.

Jax pressed his thumb to the scanner. The light blinked yellow.

“Come on,” he muttered.

Behind him, someone snorted.

“Still fighting with your locker, Earthboy?”

Jax didn’t turn around. He knew that voice. Kira Vance. Leader of the Red Dust Clique. Daughter of one of the original Mars engineers. Born on Mars. Proud of it.

“I was born here too,” Jax said.

“Yeah,” Kira replied, tapping her own locker with ease as it hissed open. “But you lived on Earth for six years. That sticks.”

Her friends laughed. Three of them, all wearing customized boots with red stripes—a not-so-subtle sign of the clique. They grabbed their tablets and floated off toward the science wing.

Jax tried his locker again.

This time, it hissed too.

A little too much.

The seal popped open with a loud WHUMP, and suddenly Jax was yanked forward. Papers flew out like startled birds. His math tablet bounced off the wall. A glove spun past his head.

The emergency field snapped on instantly, filling the locker space with a thin blue shimmer. The suction stopped.

Jax slammed the locker shut, heart pounding.

A few kids stared.

“Wow,” said a boy nearby. “Almost got spaced by algebra.”

Jax’s face burned. He scooped up his stuff and hurried away.

Mars Colony Middle School was supposed to be humanity’s pride. The first school built entirely off Earth. It had gravity-adjusted gyms, hydroponic gardens instead of playgrounds, and history classes that included events from last year.

But it still had cliques.

And homework.

And embarrassment.

Homeroom was worse.

“Group projects,” announced Ms. Imani, smiling like she enjoyed pain. “You’ll be working in teams of four for the Mars Survival Systems unit.”

Groans echoed around the room.

Ms. Imani tapped her tablet, and names flashed onto the wall.

“Jax. Lina. Milo. Soren.”

Jax blinked.

Lina was fine. She was quiet, smart, and spent lunch reading old Earth comics. Milo was… okay. Nervous, but nice.

Soren, though?

Soren was Red Dust.

Kira’s right-hand guy.

Soren slid into the seat across from Jax, flashing a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Guess we’re teammates.”

“Lucky me,” Jax said.

Lina raised an eyebrow. Milo pretended to be very interested in his pencil.

Their assignment popped onto their screens: Design a functional emergency habitat for a Mars dust storm. Due in one week.

“One week?” Milo squeaked. “That’s not enough time!”

“It’s plenty,” Soren said. “If you know what you’re doing.”

Jax crossed his arms. “We all know what we’re doing.”

Soren leaned back. “Sure, Earthboy.”

Jax clenched his jaw.

Homework on Mars was different.

On Earth, Jax remembered worksheets and backpacks. On Mars, homework came with simulations, pressure charts, and warnings about oxygen efficiency.

That night, Jax sat at the small table in their habitat pod, staring at the survival systems assignment. His little sister Nova floated nearby, doing spelling drills.

“You look like your brain is leaking,” Nova said.

“Thanks,” Jax replied.

“Is it another Red Dust thing?” she asked.

Jax sighed. “Why does everyone have to pick sides?”

Nova shrugged. “Mars is small. People grab onto groups so they don’t feel like floating away.”

Jax looked at her. “Did you just get deep?”

She grinned. “I read your comics.”

The next day, the cliques got worse.

Red Dust took over the best tables in the cafeteria dome, near the windows with the best view of Olympus Mons. The Green Growers—kids whose parents worked in agriculture—sat near the hydroponic walls. Techies clustered around charging stations.

Jax and Lina usually sat near the back.

Now Soren dropped his tray next to them.

“Group meeting,” he said. “After school. Lab Three.”

Lina frowned. “We didn’t agree on that.”

“I did,” Soren said.

Jax stood. “We’re a team. You don’t get to decide everything.”

Soren’s smile faded. “Look, Jax. This project matters. Ms. Imani watches these scores. I’m not letting my grade drop because—”

“Because what?” Jax asked.

“Because you don’t belong?” Soren snapped.

The table went quiet.

Milo dropped his fork.

Soren exhaled. “I didn’t mean—”

Jax grabbed his tray and walked away.

Lab Three was cold.

Not temperature-wise. Emotion-wise.

They argued for an hour.

Jax wanted a modular habitat with flexible seals. Lina focused on energy efficiency. Milo worried about redundancy. Soren pushed for a design similar to the original colony domes.

“Those domes crack,” Jax said. “We’ve seen it.”

“They’ve held for twenty years,” Soren replied.

“And almost failed last storm,” Lina added.

Soren slammed his hand on the table. “You all act like Mars is trying to kill us.”

Jax stared at him. “It is.”

Silence.

Then the lights flickered.

A low alarm hummed.

“Uh,” Milo said. “That’s not part of the lesson, right?”

Ms. Imani’s voice echoed over the intercom. “Attention students. We are experiencing a minor pressure fluctuation in Sector D. Please remain calm.”

Sector D.

That was Locker Hall.

Jax’s stomach dropped.

They felt it before they heard it.

A deep boom rolled through the school, followed by the scream of alarms. Emergency shutters slammed down over windows. Gravity shifted slightly as systems compensated.

“Dust storm hit early,” Lina said.

Ms. Imani rushed in. “Everyone, masks on. Stay put.”

Another boom.

This one closer.

The wall screen flashed red. VACUUM BREACH – LOCKER HALL C.

Jax’s heart pounded.

“Locker Hall C?” Milo whispered. “That’s—”

“My locker,” Jax said.

Before he could think, Jax ran.

“Jax!” Lina shouted.

He didn’t stop.

The hallway was chaos.

Emergency fields glowed blue. Air hissed through seals. A section of lockers had blown open, their contents scattered and frozen mid-air.

A maintenance drone buzzed uselessly nearby.

And trapped between two lockers, clinging to a handhold, was Kira Vance.

Her helmet was cracked.

She looked terrified.

Jax skidded to a stop.

“Help!” Kira yelled. “The field’s failing!”

The emergency barrier flickered.

Jax swallowed.

He wasn’t Red Dust.

He wasn’t anything special.

But he knew lockers.

“Hold on!” he shouted.

He grabbed a loose panel, slammed it into place, and manually sealed the latch. The hiss slowed.

Soren appeared beside him, breathless. “Kira!”

Lina and Milo followed, dragging a portable seal unit.

Together, they worked.

Hands shaking. Hearts racing.

The barrier stabilized.

Air rushed back in.

Kira collapsed against the wall, coughing.

Silence fell.

Later, in the infirmary, Kira stared at Jax.

“You saved me,” she said.

Jax shrugged. “Didn’t want extra homework.”

She laughed weakly.

Soren stepped forward. “I was wrong,” he said. “About you. About… everything.”

Jax nodded. “Mars doesn’t care where you’re from.”

“No,” Lina said softly. “It just cares if you work together.”

The project changed after that.

Their habitat design combined everything: flexible seals, energy-smart systems, and reinforced domes. It wasn’t perfect.

Neither were they.

But it worked.

Ms. Imani smiled when she saw it. “This,” she said, “is how colonies survive.”

Weeks later, Jax stood at his locker.

Locker 317.

He pressed his thumb.

It opened smoothly.

No hiss.

No pull.

Just space.

Behind him, Soren waited.

“Nice locker,” Soren said.

Jax grinned. “I fixed it.”

Outside, Mars raged on.

Inside, Mars Colony Middle School kept going.

Homework, cliques, and all.

And somehow, they all breathed a little easier.