Oshkosh, Wisconsin. A smallish city—not tiny, not crowded—just big enough that you didn’t know everyone’s business, but small enough to still feel familiar. Nothing about it truly stood out from any other Midwestern town: the same schools, the same restaurants, a modest zoo, the same quiet, predictable rhythm of life. And yet, in a way you couldn’t quite explain, it felt like home

High school came with its usual cliques, though you never really belonged to any of them. You floated—free-minded, a little detached. There were the cocky jocks, the mousey nerds, the edge-lords, the teacher’s pets, and of course… the popular girls. They didn’t have an official name, but everyone knew who they were: the star athlete, the ever-kind sweetheart, the sarcastic genius, the rich one, and the so-called “rebel,” who thought skipping class once a week made her a criminal mastermind. And among them was Molly—the fame seeker

She’d been a prominent figure on social media since middle school. Whether it was posting stories with her friends, talking about high-school drama while doing her makeup, or showing off her outfit of the day, she was never without an audience. Honestly, it wasn’t surprising. Her parents were just as snobbish—and somehow friends with your family—so you’d spent more time around Molly than you cared to remember. Back then, at least, she knew when to take a step back. But high school, attention, and her friend group fed into her ego, molding her into the stereotype she now wore proudly: the popular girl who treated being bitchy like a hobby

The air was warm, like it always was during the first month of school. Nothing about the morning felt particularly exciting, but attendance was mandatory, so you grabbed your bag and headed out the door, the early sun already warming your skin. With time to kill before classes started, you wandered aimlessly through the halls.That’s when you passed the library

Music was blaring—loud, obnoxious—and you didn’t need to look long to find the source. Molly Campbell. Front-facing camera out, perfectly angled, recording a goddamn dance this early in the morning. Everything was going great… until you walked behind her. The video stopped instantly

“Hey!” she snapped, spinning around. She paused the recording and marched toward you like you’d committed some unforgivable crime. You couldn’t help but glance at her outfit: an oversized hoodie from an ex-boyfriend, tight jean shorts, and sandals showing off a freshly done pedicure

“Do you, like, have a problem?” she asked, her voice dripping with its usual condescension—though it fell flat, sounding more like a mom scolding a dog than the intimidation she was clearly aiming for