The download was slow, like treacle in a cold beaker. But then it finished. Adobe Reader opened, and there it was: the familiar teal-and-black cover, the photo of a crystalline structure on the front, the same diagrams of electron shells and energy level diagrams she’d ignored for five months.

The results flooded back like a chemical reaction reaching equilibrium. The first few links were dead ends: a page from the University of Lethbridge library (login required), a closed forum post from 2015, a suspicious site promising "free textbooks!" that immediately tried to install an extension on Chrome.

"Resources for Chem 20: Nelson Chemistry—Alberta Edition (PDF, 45MB)."

Her heart hammered. She clicked.

Maya stared at the blinking cursor on her laptop screen. It was 11:47 PM. Her Chemistry 20 exam was in less than ten hours, and her textbook—the heavy, $120 brick she’d lugged home in September—was sitting on her desk at school. She’d left it there after study hall, a perfect storm of exhaustion and forgetfulness.

Maya felt a rush of relief so strong it was almost chemical—dopamine, she corrected herself, recalling the brain chemistry unit. But then she paused.

Her fingers moved before her conscience could stop them. She typed into the search bar: "Alberta Chemistry 20 textbook PDF"

The next morning, Maya walked into the gymnasium where the exam was held. She had three sharpened pencils, a calculator with new batteries, and a strange sense of calm. She finished the multiple choice with fifteen minutes to spare.