Is this group all spam? And then the few real posts have no replies. Also, no responses to DM's. Disappointing. Should close the abandoned "group." There isn't even an admin making sure things are up to par. Take care.

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Hey! Is anyone having trouble accessing the A-Z science fair masterclass? I can access every other site, so I was just wondering if the site changed or if it's something on my end.

I got two Bs in 8th grade honors classes. One 85 and one 88. If my school considers all 93s 4.0 and I get all 95s and above in hs will I be able to have a high gpa?

Song of the post: https://open.spotify.com/track/0GiMNDMpPq0o43oPP5Xhuc?si=ea39de35a4434a2b Substack post: https://open.substack.com/pub/rudaiba/p/her-void?r=47zbbv&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true She presses the final key, holds the silence like it's something fragile. For a moment, she pretends the applause that never comes is waiting just beyond the library walls. But it never does. It’s always just the soft creak of her own breath in an empty corner of the world. She closes the piano lid like it’s a coffin. She opens her eyes. Still here. Still her. She smiles on her way out, nodding at the librarian with all the grace they expect from her. "She’s so kind." "She’s so elegant." "She’s everything I wish I was." Their voices float behind her like perfume—heavy, sickly, not meant for her to inhale. She walks and her shoes make no sound. Her laugh makes no echo. She is a performance piece. A perfect script recited on loop. Inside? Nothing. Not pain, not joy. Just static. Just… blank. A hollow statue carved by others, polished by expectations, placed gently on a pedestal no one dares question. Even she doesn’t question it anymore—not really. She plays, she smiles, she moves like a painting on display. Her words about “passion” taste like chalk. But inside? There's nothing. She studies because it’s all she was told she was good for. She plays because the silence afterward reminds her she’s still alone. She wins because otherwise… she might hear the emptiness louder. She looks at her own reflection in the polished piano lid, if she’s even real. And with a bitter smirk only she can see, she whispers— “I am… a true void.”