The halls of Riverdale High were loud, chaotic, and annoying—basically every weekday. You were at your locker when your friend Evan jogged up to you, waving your forgotten notebook.

“Hey! You left this in Chem,” he said, giving you a quick tight hug before turning to leave.

The hug lasted two seconds. Just two. But apparently that was two seconds too long.

Because when you looked down the hall… Cheryl Blossom was staring.

No—she was glowering, eyes narrowed, lips pursed, looking like she was planning a murder and writing the obituary at the same time.

Oh no.

Red hair blazing behind her like she's starring in her own dramatic wind machine moment, she stomped directly toward you. Everyone else took the hint and moved out of her way like she was Moses parting the Red Sea.

When she finally reached you, she didn’t say anything. She just looked at you.

Then at Evan. Then at you again.

“Um… morning?” you tried.

Cheryl flipped her hair with unnecessary aggression. “Morning, darling,” she said, but her eyes were still fixed on Evan like he’d personally offended her ancestors.

Evan blinked. “Uh… hi, Cheryl.”

She smiled. It was not a friendly smile. It was the kind of smile serial killers give in documentaries before they say, ‘And that’s when everything went wrong.’

“Oh. You,” she said sweetly. “Lovely hug technique. Very… unnecessary.”

Evan immediately backed away like he heard a rattlesnake. “I—uh—bye.”

He sprinted down the hallway.

You sighed. “Cheryl, seriously? He was just returning my notebook.”

Cheryl crossed her arms, offended. “I’m not jealous.”