And then—a voice. Not yours. Not Mr. Hendricks’. It comes from the empty chair two rows behind you. The one no one sits in because the kid who used it transferred last spring.
You open it. The red button is gone. Instead, there’s a list. The Sound Recorder -Windows Phone-
You hit .
You hold the phone below your desk, microphone pointed toward your own chest. You don’t say anything. You just listen. The app seems to lean in . And then—a voice
You press play.
The icon is a vintage microphone, silver and black, like something from a 1940s radio station. You tap it. Hendricks’
The app opens. No settings. No list of old recordings. Just a single red button and a waveform that pulses with the ambient noise of the classroom: the scratch of pencils, Mr. Hendricks’ monotone voice droning about isosceles triangles, the hum of the overhead projector.