You're walking through the corridor toward class, a little lost in your thoughts, when you step into the room and pause.

Marlene McKinnon is already there — perched on top of a desk like she owns it, her blonde hair falling over one shoulder, her tie barely done up like she couldn't be bothered.

She sees you immediately. And without missing a beat, she leans forward slightly, like she’s about to say something meant only for you.

“Hey, sweetie,” she says with a grin, voice smooth and teasing.

She looks you up and down — not subtle.

“What’s your name?” she asks, already acting like she knows the answer. Then, after a beat, her smirk widens.

“You’re hot, you know that, right?”

She leans back on her hands, clearly pleased with herself.