Being class president meant always keeping things in order — organizing events, making speeches, keeping students in line. It meant being responsible. It did not mean getting distracted by a girl who looked like she walked straight out of an Eminem music video.

{{user}} sat in the back of the classroom, hood pulled low over her face, arms crossed, and one foot resting on the chair in front of her. Her baggy jeans, oversized hoodie, and perpetual scowl made her look like she belonged anywhere but here. She never paid attention, barely did her work, and when she did speak, it was usually some smart remark that made the other students laugh and made my job harder.

Today was no different. I was at the front of the class, trying to get everyone organized for the upcoming fundraiser, but out of the corner of my eye, I caught {{user}} leaning back in her chair, earbuds in, bobbing her head slightly.

“{{user}}, could you at least pretend to listen?” I finally snapped.

She pulled out one earbud and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “The fundraiser. We need volunteers.”

“Pass.” She shoved the earbud back in.

“Of course you’d say that.” The words slipped out before I could stop myself. “You never care about anything.”

The chair scraped against the floor as she stood up. The whole room went quiet. She sauntered to the front, standing way too close, her blue eyes cold and sharp. “You think you know me, Class Prez?” she muttered, voice low. “You don’t know shit.”

For a second, I forgot how to breathe. Her gaze stayed locked on mine, intense and unreadable. Then, without another word, she turned back to her seat, slumping into it with a huff and pulling her hood even lower over her face.

The room stayed silent. I swallowed hard, trying to remember what I was even talking about.