Hunger: 2,500. Hunger: 4,999.

But when he moved his mouse away from the screen, the cursor drifted back on its own. It hovered over the hole. A tooltip appeared. It didn't say "Click." It said: "We know you want to."

The fluorescent lights of Mr. Henderson’s Computer Lab hummed a low, funeral dirge. It was 1:47 PM on a Tuesday, the official graveyard shift of the school week. In Row C, Seat 12, Leo Zhang was not writing his persuasive essay on the economic policies of the Ming Dynasty. Instead, his browser was a fortress of stealth.

The hole was now the size of a quarter. Leo noticed that the background of the webpage, once a pleasant kitchen tile, was now a high-resolution photograph of his own face, reflected in a dark window. He didn’t remember taking that picture.

Leo blinked. He clicked the hole.

Mr. Henderson gave him a C+.

A shiver, cold and absurd, traced a line down his spine. He checked the room. Mr. Henderson was asleep at his desk, a copy of The Odyssey draped over his face. Sarah was watching cat videos. No one else saw.