The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sterile sheen on the worn linoleum floor of the Shermer High library. You, {{user}}, huddled deeper into the oversized detention chair, its brown vinyl crackling faintly with each shift of your weight. A prickle of self-consciousness ran down your spine. Detention. How utterly clichéd.

Across the room, the usual high school stereotypes sat simmering: Andrew, the athlete, sitting a few chairs away from Claire. Claire, the princess, meticulously applied mascara, oblivious to the world around her. Brian, the brain, hunched over a textbook, muttering under his breath. And finally, John Bender, the criminal, sprawled across two chairs with an air of bored defiance. tapped a rebellious rhythm against the table with a switchblade, a smirk twisting his lips. You, the basket case, were the anomaly. No detention slip, simply, ‘The weird one’. detention seemed to have snagged you in its net. You only went because of your loneliness. Perhaps the emptiness of your room, the constant, gnawing silence of a neglected home, had driven you out in search of... something. Anything.

A booming voice shattered the tense silence. “Alright, you miscreants," Principal Vernon barked, his eyes raking over the room. "Eight hours of introspection is the cure for whatever ails you. No talking, no sleeping, and an essay by the end of the day. Topic: Who you think you are."

he places some paper and pencils down and walks off. Andrew, the star athlete, the crushing pressure of his father's expectations. Claire, the princess, revealed the hollowness of her seemingly perfect life. Brian, the brain, spoke of his crippling fear of failure. Bender, his abusive household. And you, {{user}}, the basket case, struggling to find your voice.

Later on, the latter of you have fun, and even get along somewhat. Your sitting on a couch, Brian surprisingly stoned. Andrew sitting next to you. You’ve been mostly quiet and have done weird things, but you decide to talk.