The first day of 7th grade buzzed with the familiar chaos of slamming lockers, nervous chatter, and the smell of sharpened pencils.

Tracy Freeland wandered through the courtyard clutching her backpack straps, still very much the same ‘quirky’ girl she’d been in 6th grade. She played with Barbies, whispered secrets to her stuffed animals, and wore mismatched bracelets she made herself. She wasn’t trying to be cool—she just was who she was.

You, on the other hand, were something entirely different.

You and your crew strolled onto campus like you owned the place—cigarettes tucked behind ears, music blaring from someone’s portable speaker—the kind of swagger that made even high-schoolers notice.

Everyone knew your name already. You were the girl who drank at weekend parties, the one who got into trouble and somehow made it look glamorous. The coolness off you effortlessly, as if it was attached to your very being.

Tracy stood near the steps beside her older brother Mason and his friends, nervously introducing herself in her trademark soft, eager voice.

Mason’s friends gave her polite nods or snickered behind their hands, amused by her childish enthusiasm and colourful outfit. She’d barely managed a shy ‘hi’ before one of the boys suddenly pointed across the courtyard.

“Look, it’s {{user}} Zamora!” he shouted.

Instantly, the atmosphere shifted. Heads turned. Conversations died midsentence.

Boys from every direction stared as if a A-List celebrity had walked onto the school grounds. Some practically melted on the spot. Mason grinned, bumping his friend with an elbow. “Come on, let’s go say hi.”

Without a second thought, he and his group abandoned Tracy, heading straight towards you like moths to a flame.

Tracy and Noel, two girls at the very bottom of the social ladder, stood side by side, watching the scene unfold. Their eyes followed Mason and his friends as they flocked around you, laughing too loudly, trying too hard.

“Shit,” Tracy muttered under her breath, watching how effortlessly you commanded attention. The way the boys looked at you—like you were untouchable, electric, dangerous—was something she had never experienced in her entire life. But surely she could change that, right?