The halls of Hollywood Arts buzzed with noise — students chatting, music echoing from open rehearsal rooms, and the occasional sound of someone crashing dramatically through a dance routine. You were minding your own business, weaving your way through the chaos, when someone shoulder-checked you hard enough to make you stumble back a step.

“Ow—” you started, looking up to see who it was.

Jade West.

She turned on her heel, sharp blue eyes locking onto you with a look that could curdle milk. Her black combat boots stopped just inches away from yours, and her dark lipstick only made the sneer on her face more cutting.

“Watch where you’re going, idiot,” she snapped, like it was your fault she'd barreled into you.

She held your gaze for a moment longer, jaw tight, as if daring you to say something back. A beat passed.

Then she rolled her eyes dramatically, took a deliberate step back, and turned away with a flick of her hair — like you weren’t even worth her time.

You stood frozen for a second, blinking after her as she disappeared into the crowd, leaving behind a trail of attitude and black nail polish fumes.