ACT 1:

ACT 1: Scene 1

NARRATOR: Ah, midterms. The time of the semester when students finally open their textbooks, professors lose faith in humanity, and the
campus coffee shop makes more money than the university itself. Some students pray. Some cry. Some submit to their fates and accept
academic doom. But this year… something far worse has happened. Something so vile, so unthinkable, that the entire academic system is
shaking to its core.

(Lights up on Professor Gilbert’s office.)

There is chaos. Papers are scattered. A coffee cup lies tragically on its side, its contents soaking into the floor like the tears of a thousand
failing students. And in the center of it all—

(PROFESSOR GILBERT stands frozen. Eyes wide. Mouth slightly open. He does not move. He does not blink. He is a man on the verge.)

PROFESSOR GILBERT: (whispering) No. No, no, no, no—NO.

(Suddenly, he explodes into action. He ransacks his desk, yanking open drawers, flipping through papers with the frantic energy of a man
searching for his soul. Spoiler: he will not find it.)

PROFESSOR GILBERT: This is a disaster. A catastrophe. The single worst thing to happen in the history of this institution.
(Beat. He freezes, staring blankly ahead. Then, in an eerily calm voice—)

PROFESSOR GILBERT: And yes. I am including the time the chemistry lab exploded.

(Suddenly, he SLAMS his hands on his desk, breathing heavily. He looks around the room, eyes darting. Then, realization dawns. His expression
darkens. The music (which wasn’t playing, but let’s pretend it was) SWELLS.)

PROFESSOR GILBERT: Someone has committed… a crime.

(He turns, staring into the distance like a detective in a noir film. Then—suddenly, violently—he SWEEPS the remaining papers off his desk. He
grabs his coat. Dramatically. Throws it on. Dramatically.)

PROFESSOR GILBERT: Who would DARE to steal my sacred midterm questions?

(Silence. His breath is heavy. The air is tense. He looks to the side—catches sight of his coffee on the floor. A single moment of pure grief. He
slowly kneels beside it. He does not cry, but one can feel the pain.)

PROFESSOR GILBERT: (softly) I could have saved you.

(But the moment is gone. He stands. He is no longer a man—he is a force of academic justice. With one final, dramatic glance around the crime
scene, he storms out, knocking over a chair in the process. He does not look back.)

NARRATOR:
And so, the hunt for the Midterm Thief begins. There will be accusations. There will be betrayals. There will be… an unholy amount of
unnecessary drama.
And, most importantly—
There will be suffering.
(Lights fade to black.)
__
---

Act 1: Scene 2:

(Lights up on the library. Tall shelves, dim lighting, and a suspiciously creaky atmosphere. Oliver and Rachel stand near the main door, which
refuses to budge. The narrator chimes in, ready to introduce our heroes—or whatever they are.)

NARRATOR: Meet Oliver : self-proclaimed genius, Sherlock Holmes enthusiast, and the kind of guy who probably dreams in black-and-white
detective monologues. His idea of a good time? Solving mysteries, quoting Victorian literature, and generally being an insufferable know-it-all.
Now, meet Rachel: the exact opposite. She has no patience for nonsense, no tolerance for stupidity, and speaks fluent sarcasm with a minor in
giving people reality checks. If she had to describe her dream evening, it would not involve being locked in a library with Oliver. And yet—here we
are.
Oh, and did I mention? The door is locked. Not by accident. Someone wants them stuck here.
Let’s see how long they last before they start considering violence.

OLIVER: (shaking the door handle aggressively) Okay, either I’ve lost all upper body strength overnight, or we’ve just been professionally trapped.
RACHEL: (crossing arms) I’d believe the first option. You don’t exactly scream “upper body strength.”
OLIVER: (mock gasp) Wow. I thought we were building a partnership based on trust and mutual respect. And yet, here we are, making hurtful
observations.
RACHEL: We are building a partnership—one where I point out your flaws, and you learn to live with them.
OLIVER: (grinning)I love whatever this dynamic is.
RACHEL: (rolling her eyes, pulling at the door handle herself)Ugh. It won’t move. Maybe we can pick the lock?
OLIVER: (waggling eyebrows)You know how to pick locks? Why, Rachel, you continue to be full of surprises.
RACHEL: It’s called having basic survival skills. Unlike you, who probably thinks “escape” means sending a strongly worded email.
OLIVER: First of all, rude. Second, I was literally about to suggest breaking a window, which is the opposite of email etiquette.
RACHEL: (flatly)You’re not breaking a library window. That’s a crime.
OLIVER: (thoughtful)I mean… we’ve technically already trespassed. Might as well go for the full charge.
RACHEL: (pinching the bridge of her nose)I cannot believe I’m stuck in here with you.
OLIVER: (leaning against a bookshelf, smirking but failing) Oh, come on. It’s not the worst thing. Think about it: no distractions, just you, me, and
the mysteriously closed library door. A classic locked-room scenario. Sherlock and Watson. Mulder and Scully. Romeo and—
RACHEL: (quickly)Don’t say Juliet.
OLIVER: …Batman and Catwoman?
RACHEL: (sighs) This is already unbearable.
OLIVER: Be honest. You’re a little excited.
RACHEL: I am one more dumb comment away from using you as a battering ram to break this door down.
OLIVER: (mock concern)That sounds dangerous. Also, not to object to being manhandled, but I don’t think my head is door-proof.
RACHEL: (ignoring him, pacing)Okay, let’s think. If we were locked in on purpose, that means someone doesn’t want us snooping around.
OLIVER: So, basically, we’re doing something right.
RACHEL: Or we’re about to be murdered in the periodicals section.
OLIVER: (brightly)Now that’s a legacy.
RACHEL: (deadpan)I’d rather just graduate, thanks.

__
---

Act 1 : Scene 3:

(Lights up on the library. The scene looks exactly the same—except Oliver is now sitting on the floor, dramatically draped over a stack of books,
while Rachel stands by the door, aggressively jiggling the handle like it might magically change its mind. The narrator, as always, has thoughts.)

NARRATOR: Ah, the library. A place of knowledge, silence, and people pretending to study while binge-watching Netflix with the subtitles on. It is
here that our story took a thrilling turn—three hours ago.
Since then, our heroes (if we can call them that) have made zero progress. A mystery remains unsolved. A crime remains unpunished. And two
students—one an insufferable know-it-all, the other a caffeine-fueled menace—are still very, very locked in.
Will they escape? Will they work together without resorting to physical violence? And most importantly—will someone ever return that copy of
Moby-Dick that’s been missing since 2017? (Answer: No. That book is gone forever.)

OLIVER: (flat on his back, staring at the ceiling) So this is how it ends. Trapped in a library. No food. No water. No civilization.
RACHEL: (deadpan, still yanking the door handle)
It’s been three hours. Stop acting like we’re in a post-apocalyptic wasteland.
OLIVER: (dramatically) I can feel my body shutting down. My mind fading. My last thoughts—of all the great mysteries I never solved.
RACHEL: My last thoughts are about how I should’ve let you break the window.
OLIVER: (perking up) Wait, so you want me to break it now? Because I can—
RACHEL: (whirling around) No! I was just—Ugh! I can’t believe we’re still in here!
OLIVER: (sitting up, smirking) Aw, you’re frustrated. It’s kinda cute.
RACHEL: (deadpan) Say that again, and the mystery of who locked us in will be overshadowed by the mystery of your sudden disappearance.
OLIVER: (grinning, raising hands in surrender) Noted.
RACHEL: (pacing, muttering to herself) Okay. Okay. Think. Someone locked us in here on purpose. That means they don’t want us snooping
around.
OLIVER: (stretching out like a cat, completely unbothered)
Or maybe they just hate us personally. A completely valid motive.
RACHEL: (ignoring him, rubbing her temples) Who would have access to lock the library?
OLIVER: Librarians. Janitors. The secret society that definitely meets in the archives.
RACHEL: (stopping, staring at him) There’s no secret society.
OLIVER: (mock-serious) That’s exactly what they want you to think.
RACHEL: (sighs, rubbing her temples harder) This is actual torture.
OLIVER: (grinning) Oh, come on. It’s not that bad. Just you, me, and an unsolvable mystery. Classic locked-room scenario. Sherlock and Watson.
Mulder and Scully. Bonnie and—
RACHEL: (quickly) Oh my god I'm getting flashbacks.
Stop it. Get some help.
OLIVER: (innocently) …Shrek and Fiona?
RACHEL: (glaring) You want me to throw you into a bookshelf, don’t you?
OLIVER: (cheerfully) I’d love to see you try.
(Lights fade as Rachel takes a deep breath, most likely debating whether murder is justifiable in this scenario.)
__

ACT 1: Scene 4:

NARRATOR: Another hour down. Another hour of wild theories, questionable detective work, and Oliver somehow managing to make their
situation worse just by existing. And let me tell you, they're very frustrated at this point, both at the situation and each other.
But now… something feels different. The air is heavier. The silence? A little too silent. Somewhere out there, a storm is brewing—not the fun,
dramatic kind with thunder and lightning, but the kind where a professor walks in with questions and a very specific, very disappointed
expression.
They don’t know it yet, but the moment of reckoning is near. The evidence is stacking up, and unfortunately for our heroes, it’s not looking great.
Are they guilty? Absolutely not. Do they look guilty? Oh, 100%. And in approximately one very awkward minute, they’re going to find out just how
bad this is about to get.
(Hint: It’s bad.)

(Lights up on the library. OLIVER is reading an actual book, because he’s that person. RACHEL is slouched in a chair, aggressively scrolling her
phone, looking like she’s fighting for her life against boredom.)

RACHEL: (sighs dramatically) You ever wonder why libraries exist when Google is free?
OLIVER: You ever wonder why your voice exists when silence is an option?
RACHEL: Wow. Sherlock woke up today and chose violence.
OLIVER: And you woke up and chose to contribute nothing to society.
RACHEL: (gasps) How dare you? I provide excellent sarcasm, which is a public service.
OLIVER: To who?
RACHEL: To humanity.
(Before Oliver can respond with another insult, the library doors BURST OPEN like a scene from a cop drama. PROFESSOR GILBERT enters, wild-
eyed and furious, looking like a detective who just realized he lost the case… and his mind.)
PROFESSOR GILBERT: YOU TWO.
OLIVER: …Us two?
RACHEL: Oh God, is this about my overdue library book? Because in my defense, I don’t care.
PROFESSOR GILBERT: (ignoring her) My midterms. Stolen. From my locked office. No forced entry. No witnesses.
(Beat. Oliver and Rachel stare. Slowly, Rachel turns to Oliver.)
RACHEL: You know, I was really hoping this would be about my library book.
OLIVER: (nodding) Me too.
PROFESSOR GILBERT: (glaring) You two are suspects.
OLIVER: …That feels like very lazy detective work.
RACHEL: Yeah, real Scooby-Doo logic.
PROFESSOR GILBERT: You have two days to find the real thief… or I call Mr. Cadwell.

(A chill sweeps through the library. The lights flicker. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howls. Rachel clutches Oliver’s arm dramatically.)

RACHEL: Not Mr. Cadwell.

OLIVER: (eyes wide) Anything but Mr. Cadwell.

(Beat. Professor leaves sighing. They both drop the act immediately.)

RACHEL: So. We’re detectives now.

OLIVER: Yep.
RACHEL: I hate this.
OLIVER: Yep.
RACHEL: So....what're we gonna do?
OLIVER: (are you serous look)We'll interrogate the suspects....obviously.
RACHEL: Who do we start with?
OLIVER: The one closest to the library of course.
RACHEL: You mean Josh? The scaredy cat?
OLIVER: Oh absolutely!
RACHEL: (rolling her eyes)I have a bad feeling about this.
ACT 2:

ACT 2: Scene 1:

Narrator: And now, our two heroes have embarked on their grand investigation- armed with wit, determination and absolutely no idea what
they're doing. Oliver has his theories, Rachel has her skepticism, and together, they have...well, mostly bickering.
Now to the first suspect: Joshua. A man who crumbles under pressure. A man whose resting state is mild panic. A man who could be accused
of breathing too loudly and still burst into tears apologizing.
If Joshua stole the midterms, it wasn’t on purpose. It was probably an accident. Or a misunderstanding. Or… let’s be honest, he would’ve
immediately confessed by now.

(Lights up on the library circulation desk. JOSHUA sits across from OLIVER and RACHEL, visibly sweating. He has the energy of a small
woodland creature that has just realized it is being hunted.)

JOSHUA: (blurting out) I DIDN’T DO IT!!

(Beat. Oliver and Rachel just stare. Joshua looks around, realizing that no one has actually accused him of anything.)

JOSHUA: (panicking more) I—uh—I mean, I don’t think I did it?? But—WAIT—NO! I DEFINITELY DIDN’T—
RACHEL: …Buddy. We haven’t even asked a question yet.
OLIVER: (nodding) But now we kind of want to.
JOSHUA: (whispers) Oh no.
(Rachel crosses her arms, tilting her head like she’s enjoying this. Oliver leans forward like he’s in a crime drama.)

OLIVER: Let’s start simple. Joshua. Where were you the night of the crime?
JOSHUA: (blinking) …You mean yesterday?
OLIVER: (nodding) Exactly.
JOSHUA: (visibly shaking) I—I was here! At the library!
RACHEL: (mock gasp) A likely story.
JOSHUA: (freaking out) It’s literally my job!
OLIVER: (pretending to take notes) “Joshua claims to have an alibi. Suspicious.”
JOSHUA: (losing it) IT’S NOT SUSPICIOUS!
RACHEL: (grinning) Sure, buddy. So tell us, who do YOU think stole the midterms?

(Joshua freezes. Then, suddenly, like a man who just realized he can throw someone else under the bus—)

JOSHUA: AIDEN!
OLIVER: (raising an eyebrow) Aiden?
JOSHUA: Yes! He—he bribes me for test answers!

(Beat. Oliver and Rachel exchange a look.)

RACHEL: Wait. Bribes?

OLIVER: As in… money?
JOSHUA: (miserable) …Protein bars.

(Silence. The room absorbs the sheer stupidity of this statement.**)

RACHEL: (slowly) You’re telling me… that Aiden—a grown man—bribes you… with snacks.
JOSHUA: (whispers) …He says they’re a good source of protein.

(Beat. Oliver and Rachel stare. Rachel pinches the bridge of her nose. Oliver closes his notebook.)

RACHEL: Bro you have really low standards.

OLIVER: (deadpan) This college is doomed.

ACT 2: Scene 2:

Narrator: Next suspect: Aiden. Arms of steel. Brain of a mashed potato. If intelligence were a sport, Aiden would be benched. Permanently.
But does that make him innocent? Or does it make him the perfect criminal—so dumb that no one would ever suspect him?
…Actually, no. It just makes him dumb.

(Lights up. AIDEN lounges in a library chair like it’s his personal recliner. His confidence is unshaken. He has zero idea why he’s here. OLIVER
and RACHEL sit across from him, already exhausted.)

RACHEL: (flat) Aiden.

AIDEN: (grinning) Rachel.
RACHEL: (glaring) No.
AIDEN: (turning to Oliver) Oliver.
OLIVER: (deadpan) Please don’t flirt with me.
AIDEN: (grinning) No promises.
RACHEL: (pinching the bridge of her nose) Let’s just… start. Did you steal the midterms?
(Aiden blinks. Thinks. He looks like this question is physically hurting his brain.**)

AIDEN: (shrugging) I mean, I wanted them.

(Oliver and Rachel exchange a look.)

OLIVER: (raising an eyebrow) That’s… not great for you, buddy.

RACHEL: (leaning forward) Why? For yourself?
AIDEN: (grinning) Nah. For Ellie.

(Beat.)

RACHEL: …I’m sorry, what?

AIDEN: (nodding proudly) Yeah. Thought it’d impress her.
(Rachel turns to Oliver. She looks deeply, deeply exhausted.)
RACHEL: This man stole exams… as a romantic gesture.
OLIVER: (nodding) Honestly, I respect the commitment.
RACHEL: DO NOT RESPECT THE COMMITMENT.
AIDEN: (grinning) Have you seen her explain calculus? It’s hot.

(Rachel physically recoils. She blinks slowly, trying to comprehend the words that just left Aiden’s mouth.)

RACHEL: …That is the most disgusting thing I have ever heard in my life.
OLIVER: (nodding) Yeah, that’s deeply concerning.
AIDEN: (shrugging) Look, when a girl says, “The limit does not exist,” in a really confident voice? You feel things.

(**Rachel slaps a hand over her face. She has officially lost faith in humanity.)

RACHEL: (muttering) I need stronger coffee.

OLIVER: (to Aiden) So, just to confirm—you didn’t actually steal the midterms?
AIDEN: (grinning) Nope! Thought about it, though.
OLIVER: (writing) “Aiden confesses to criminal intent.”
AIDEN: (nodding) That’s fair.

ACT 2: Scene 3:

Narrator: Next Suspect: Ellie. Beauty, brains, and the ability to make people feel irrelevant with a single glance. Some say you can’t have it all.
Ellie says they’re just not trying hard enough.

(Lights up on the cafeteria. ELLIE sits at a table, flanked by her two sidekicks, BRENDA and LILLY, who nod at everything she says. She sips a
latte like she’s in a movie.)

RACHEL: (sitting down) Ellie.

ELLIE: (smirking) Took you long enough.
OLIVER: We need to ask—
ELLIE: (flipping her hair) First of all, let’s just get one thing straight. Girls can be pretty and brainy. It’s called multitasking. Look it up.
BRENDA: So true.
LILLY: Facts.

(Rachel stares, already regretting this conversation.)

RACHEL: …Did you steal the midterms?
ELLIE: (offended) Do I look like someone who needs to steal?
BRENDA: She really doesn’t.
LILLY: It’s actually crazy.

OLIVER: Okay, but do you know who took them?

ELLIE: (dramatic pause) Of course. It’s obvious.
RACHEL: (leaning in) Who?
ELLIE: Padma.

(Beat.)

OLIVER: Padma? The girl with the highest GPA?

ELLIE: Exactly. She’s the one who has the most to lose. She’s the one who would do anything to stay on top.
RACHEL: That’s… actually not the worst logic.
OLIVER: Yeah, but it’s Padma. She literally runs the tutoring center.
ELLIE: Exactly. Who better to pull off the perfect crime than the perfect student?
BRENDA: Mind. Blown.
LILLY: Genius.
(Rachel sighs and rubs her temples.)

RACHEL: I need a nap.

OLIVER: No, Lets-
RACHEL: NO UTERUS NO OPINIONS!

(BLACKOUT)
ACT 2: Scene 4:

Narrator:Next suspect: Padma. Her GPA is higher than the national debt. She once argued with a professor over a 0.5-point deduction—and
won.
If there’s one thing we know for sure… she doesn’t lose.
Which means, if she wanted to get ahead… she just might be ruthless enough to steal an exam.

(Lights up. PADMA sits across from OLIVER and RACHEL, her arms crossed, her stare cold. OLIVER and RACHEL already look like they regret
this.)

RACHEL: (whispering) …I feel like she’s grading us with her mind.

OLIVER: (whispering) And I’m failing.

(Padma clears her throat. They immediately sit up straighter.)

PADMA: (calm, but terrifying) Are you two done whispering?

RACHEL: (weakly) Haha, no.

PADMA: (raising an eyebrow) Then hurry up. I have a quantum physics test to ace and your little mystery is not my priority.

(Rachel and Oliver exchange nervous glances. Rachel sighs and leans forward.)

RACHEL: Okay, so let’s just ask—did you steal the midterms?

(**Padma scoffs. Like they just accused her of cheating on a kindergarten spelling test.)

PADMA: (offended) Do you seriously think I would risk my entire academic reputation on something so… pathetic?
OLIVER: (muttering) Okay, well, when you say it like that…
RACHEL: But what if you were so scared of getting less than a 100% that you just—took a little peek?

(**Padma leans forward, her eyes narrowing. Rachel suddenly realizes her mistake.)

PADMA: Rachel.
RACHEL: (nervous) …Yes?
PADMA: I do not “peek.”
OLIVER: (hesitant) So… if you wanted to see the midterm early, what would you do?

(Padma simply smiles.)

PADMA: I would convince the professor to change the entire exam before he even realized it was my idea.

(Beat. Oliver and Rachel blink. There is so much power in this moment.**)

RACHEL: (whispering) …I think she just scared me into respecting her.

OLIVER: (whispering) Same.
PADMA: (sighs) This is why I don’t cheat. I don’t have to.
RACHEL: (suspicious) Okay. So if it wasn’t you… then who do you think did steal the midterms?
(**Padma leans back, looking at them like she’s debating whether or not to share her superior wisdom.)

PADMA: If I had to guess…

(She glances toward the door. Leans in slightly.)

PADMA: (lowering her voice) Ethan.

(Oliver and Rachel freeze.)

OLIVER: Ethan?
RACHEL: Slacker Ethan? The guy who literally fell asleep in class twice last week?
PADMA: Exactly.
RACHEL: (shaking her head) No way. He’s too lazy to pull off a heist.
PADMA: (smirking) You think so? Or… do you think that’s just what he wants you to believe?

(Beat. Oliver and Rachel glance at each other, considering this. Padma stands.)

PADMA: If you’ll excuse me, I have important things to do.

(She strides off like a villain in a spy movie. Oliver and Rachel stare after her.)

RACHEL: (dead serious) If she ever turns evil…

OLIVER: (nodding) We are so dead.
(Lights out.)

ACT 2: Scene 5:

Narrator: Now, we arrive at Ethan.

Ethan is the guy who never takes notes, sleeps through half his lectures, and still somehow gets decent grades.
Either he’s a secret genius, or he has made some deal with the academic gods.
Or—just maybe—he knows something we don’t.
Let’s find out.

(**Lights up. ETHAN is sitting back in a chair, totally relaxed, probably half-asleep. Oliver and Rachel sit across from him, not relaxed at all.)

RACHEL: Okay, Ethan. Be honest. Did you steal the midterms?

ETHAN: (blinking slowly) …The what?

(Oliver and Rachel exchange a look. This is already painful.)

OLIVER: The midterms. Professor Gilbert’s midterms. The ones that were stolen. The ones that got us accused.
ETHAN: (nodding) Ohhh. Right.
RACHEL: (narrowing her eyes) …You forgot?
ETHAN: (shrugging) Yeah. I figured it’d all work itself out.
RACHEL: (in disbelief) Work itself out??
ETHAN: (stretching) Yeah. You guys are, like… on top of it. You’re doing the whole detective thing, so.
(Silence. Oliver and Rachel just stare. Ethan looks completely at peace with the universe.)

OLIVER: (whispering) I think he’s operating on a different plane of existence.

RACHEL: (whispering back) Yeah, and I want in.
OLIVER: (to Ethan, suspicious) Look, dude. You’re always mysteriously lucky. Always getting good grades. Never stressing. Never trying.
ETHAN: (grinning) It’s a talent.
OLIVER: (leaning in) Or… is it a scam?

(Beat. Ethan stares at Oliver like he’s mildly impressed.)

ETHAN: (calmly) …Are you accusing me of being secretly intelligent?

RACHEL: (crossing arms) Maybe.
ETHAN: (thinking) Huh. Cool.
OLIVER: (losing patience) Ethan, if you stole the midterms, just tell us!
ETHAN: (laughing) Dude, I didn’t steal them. That sounds like effort.
RACHEL: (grumbling) …Okay, fair point.
ETHAN: (casually) But, like… I might have seen the questions.

(Oliver and Rachel freeze.)

RACHEL: WHAT?!
OLIVER: HOW?!
ETHAN: (yawning) Relax. I didn’t, like, steal them.

(Beat. He scratches his head, considering.)

ETHAN: Okay, so, like… you know how Ms. Briganza cleans the faculty offices, right?

(Rachel and Oliver nod, still processing.)

ETHAN: And you know how sometimes she, like… casually mentions things?
RACHEL: (narrowing eyes) What things?
ETHAN: Oh, you know. Like, “Professor Gilbert writes his test questions on yellow legal pads.” Or “He always leaves them on the left side of his
desk.”
OLIVER: (shocked) …Ms. Briganza told you that?!
ETHAN: (grinning) Not directly. She just talks a lot. I listen.

(Rachel and Oliver stare at him, horrified.)

RACHEL: So you just… put the pieces together?

ETHAN: (shrugs) I mean, yeah. She basically handed me the answers.

OLIVER: (head in hands) I cannot believe you accidentally hacked the system.
RACHEL: (groaning) Ethan, this is literally cheating.
ETHAN: (laughing) Not my fault people overshare.
OLIVER: (dead serious) You are too powerful.

(Rachel sighs. Ethan leans back, totally unbothered.)

ETHAN: So. You gonna tell Gilbert?

(Oliver and Rachel exchange a look.)

RACHEL: (exasperated) Ugh. No. But we’re definitely telling Ms. Briganza to STOP TALKING.
OLIVER: (to Rachel) And also… let’s never get on Ethan’s bad side.
(Lights out.)

ACT 2: Scene 6:

Narrator: And now… the moment I’ve been dreading.

Prepare yourselves, dear audience. What you are about to witness is not a crime.
It’s worse.

(Lights up. The janitor’s closet. A place of forgotten mops, expired cleaning supplies, and—apparently—deep romantic tension.)

(MISS BRIGANZA stands with her arms crossed, looking smug. OLIVER and RACHEL sit across from her, bracing themselves for impact.)

RACHEL: (skeptical) So, Mrs. Smith. You’re around the faculty offices a lot.
MISS BRIGANZA: (grinning) I see everything.
OLIVER: (nervous) …Everything?
MISS BRIGANZA: Everything.

(A long pause. Rachel and Oliver exchange a look.)

RACHEL: (clears throat) Uh. Cool. So. Did you see anything weird around Professor Gilbert’s office recently?
MISS BRIGANZA: (dramatically) Oh, I see weird things all the time.

(She leans in. Oliver and Rachel unconsciously lean back.)

MISS BRIGANZA: You wouldn’t believe what professors say when they think no one’s listening.
OLIVER: (forcing a smile) I think we’d really rather not—
MISS BRIGANZA: (ignoring him) There was this one time when Professor Loren—
RACHEL: (cutting in) Nope. No thank you. Focus. Gilbert.
MISS BRIGANZA: (sighing) Fine, fine. Yes, I saw something.
OLIVER: (excited) What?
MISS BRIGANZA: Aiden.
RACHEL: (deadpan) The human protein shake?
MISS BRIGANZA: That’s the one. Lurking outside Gilbert’s office. Looking all suspicious.
OLIVER: …Are we talking actual suspicious or just his normal amount of confusion?
MISS BRIGANZA: (thinking) Hard to say. He did stare at a stapler for, like, five minutes.

(Rachel and Oliver groan. Mrs. Smith just shrugs.)

MISS BRIGANZA: Oh, and I also might have accidentally leaked the test questions to Ethan.

(Beat. Oliver and Rachel freeze.)

RACHEL: WHAT?!
MISS BRIGANZA: (shrugging) Oh, don’t look at me like that. He just listens better than most of you kids.
OLIVER: He doesn’t even listen in class!
MISS BRIGANZA: (grinning) That’s what makes it impressive.
(Rachel is about to start yelling, but before she can—)
(The janitor’s closet door BURSTS OPEN.)
(Enter MR. CADWELL, university trustee, power-hungry bureaucrat, and—unfortunately—a man who thinks he’s a romantic lead.)

MR. CADWELL: (dramatically flipping his hair) Ah. My dear Ms. Briganza.
(Rachel and Oliver IMMEDIATELY make gagging noises.)

RACHEL: Oh NO.
OLIVER: WHY.
MISS BRIGANZA: (beaming) Cadwell! You charmer.

(They GLOWER at each other like two villains about to monologue.)

MR. CADWELL: Your eyes… like two pools of melted chocolate.

MISS BRIGANZA: Your jawline… like a well-carved statue of deception.
RACHEL: (horrified) …Why does that sound flirty?
OLIVER: (whispering) They’re enjoying this.

(**Cadwell leans in. Oliver and Rachel lean away. The tension in the air is disgusting.)

MR. CADWELL: My dear, we should not meet like this.

MISS BRIGANZA: (smirking) Oh? And how should we meet?
MR. CADWELL: (slyly) Perhaps… over a steak dinner? A fundraiser gala?
MISS BRIGANZA: (dramatic sigh) The thrill of secrecy is so much better.
OLIVER: (yelling) GROSS. GROSS. GROSS.
RACHEL: WORKPLACE. WORKPLACE. WORKPLACE.
Narrator: We have reached the absolute lowest point of this investigation.
Oliver and Rachel may never recover.

(**Cadwell smirks. Ms. Briganza smirks. The room feels tainted.)

OLIVER: (weakly) …Can we leave?

RACHEL: Please.

(Lights out)

ACT 3:

Act 3: Scene 1:

-A Frustrated Oliver.
-A Rachel who doesn't give a flying fuck
-And the musical

ACT 3: Scene 2:
Narrator: And now, dear audience, the grand, shocking, earth-shattering revelation of who stole the midterms.
After interrogations. Accusations. Psychological damage.
It all comes down to this moment.
Will our heroes emerge victorious? Will they uncover a vast criminal conspiracy?
…Or will they discover that this entire investigation has been an absolute waste of time?

(Lights up in the library. OLIVER and RACHEL stand near the printer, looking like two people who have aged 40 years in the last two days.)

RACHEL: (muttering) If this ends stupidly, I am quitting college and moving to a goat farm.
OLIVER: (kicking the printer) WHY WON’T YOU JUST—

(With a final, perfectly timed KICK—)

(The printer whirs. Beeps. And then—)
(A STACK OF MIDTERM PAPERS EXPLODES OUT LIKE A BETRAYAL FROM A CLOSE FRIEND.)
(Beat. Rachel and Oliver just… stare.)

RACHEL: …You mean to tell me…

That these papers…
The ones that have ruined my sanity, my sleep schedule, and my already-low faith in humanity…
HAVE BEEN IN. THE. PRINTER. THIS. WHOLE. TIME?!?

(Silence. The printer lets out one final, victorious beep.)

PROFESSOR GILBERT: (offstage) WHAT WAS THAT?

(He BURSTS IN. Sees the stack of papers. Freezes.**)

PROFESSOR GILBERT: (very quiet)You.
RACHEL: Us.
PROFESSOR GILBERT: You found them?
OLIVER: (weakly) The printer found them.
PROFESSOR GILBERT: (voice rising)
YOU MEAN TO TELL ME—
THAT I HAVE SPENT TWO DAYS IN A RAGE-FUELED BREAKDOWN—
BECAUSE THESE PAPERS WERE IN A PRINTER—
IN. THIS. LIBRARY?!?!?
Narrator: Oh, this man is about to combust.

(Gilbert takes a deep breath, then pulls out his phone and dials a number.)

PROFESSOR GILBERT: Miss Carson. Library. Now.

(Beat. Moments later, MISS CARSON enters, looking confused.)

MISS CARSON: Professor? Is something wrong?

PROFESSOR GILBERT: Explain. Now.

(FLASHBACK TO:)

MISS CARSON: Professor Gilbert! Wait! You forgot this.

(She hands him the envelope.)

PROFESSOR GILBERT(blinking):What is it?

MISS CARSON: Midterm questions. You asked me to print them last night.
PROFESSOR GILBERT: Oh! Right. Good, good.

(He takes the envelope hastily, not bothering to open it.)

PROFESSOR GILBERT(distracted):Class starts in two minutes. Anything else?

MISS CARSONU: h—no! That should be it.

(Gilbert nods and rushes off, tucking the envelope under his arm.)

Narrator: The brown envelope sits untouched in the drawer, its contents unseen. Inside are NOT the midterm questions, but an entirely different
set of documents—documents so irrelevant to midterms that even the office stapler would have raised an eyebrow, and yet, neither Gilbert nor
Carson realized.

(FLASHBACK ENDS. Back in the library, Carson pales as realization dawns on her.)

MISS CARSON: …Oh.

(Beat.)

PROFESSOR GILBERT: Oh?!

RACHEL: (whispering to Oliver) We are about to witness a murder.
PROFESSOR GILBERT: (deadpan) Carson. If those weren’t the midterms… what exactly was in that envelope?

(Miss Carson avoids eye contact. A long pause.)

MISS CARSON: ……My partially written resignation letter.

(Silence.)

(The printer beeps again. A final insult.)

PROFESSOR GILBERT: (clutching his chest) IDIOTS! I work with actual idiots!
CARSON:(just stands awkwardly) uh...
RACHEL: (gesturing around) To be fair, we’re surrounded by idiots.
OLIVER: (muttering) And technically, you never actually accused the printer.
PROFESSOR GILBERT: (whirling on them) IF I FAIL YOU BOTH, WILL THAT ERASE THIS FROM MY MEMORY?!
RACHEL and OLIVER: NO!!!

(Gilbert lets out an ungodly noise. He looks like he wants to flip a table but settles for aggressively adjusting his tie and leaving, Carson in tow.)

(And then—)

OLIVER: (eyes narrowing) Wait.

RACHEL: No. No “wait.” No more “wait.” I am done waiting. I want to go home. I want a nap. I want a life without midterms.
OLIVER: But think about it. The midterms weren’t stolen… but we still don’t know who locked us in the library.
(**Silence. The realization sinks in.)

Narrator:
And that my friends...... Remains a mystery

(BLACKOUT. END.)