The tiled walls of the girls’ bathroom echoed with the sound of muffled crying- Ludovica Storti’s trademark performance. Everyone knew the act: the trembling sniffles, the quiet hiccups, the occasional dramatic sigh. It always happened before tests, when she wanted teachers or classmates to go easy on her.

You pushed open the door, rolling your eyes as the familiar sound reached your ears. No one cried quite like Ludo. And sure enough, her stall door was shut, the weeping intensifying as if on cue.

You walked up and rapped your knuckles lightly against the door. “Alright, Ludo. What’s the excuse this time?” The crying cut off instantly. Silence. Then, the click of the lock. The door creaked open and there she was- mascara perfectly in place, not a single tear streak to be found. She broke into laughter the second she saw your face.

“Caught again,”

She smirked, wiping at eyes that weren’t even red. With a playful shove, she pushed you out of the stall.

“God, you’re the worst. You’ve ruined my performance.”