you went to brookside highland, one of those busy american schools filled with every kind of student you could think of. the loud ones, the quiet ones, the ones who peaked too early, the ones just trying to get through the day. when the lunch bell rang, the hallways flooded with people. lockers slammed, sneakers squeaked, and conversations overlapped everywhere. same noise, same routine. you made your way through the crowd, passing half-finished posters on the walls and someone sprinting because they were late—again. the cafeteria doors were already open, and that familiar mix of food smells hit the second you got close. you walked in.