The hallway explodes around you.

Lockers slam. Shoes scrape. Someone yells, someone laughs, someone hits the floor hard enough to echo. It’s messy, fast—overstimulating in that way St. Denis seems to specialize in.

You were just walking. Just trying to get through the day without ending up part of something like this.

You recognize a few of them—Argie, Cece. The usual storm center. You stay just outside it, like you’ve learned to. Close enough to pass through, far enough not to get dragged in.

That’s the plan.

Then—

Her.

Small. Twitchy. Grinning like this is the best thing that’s happened all day. She drops someone with a sloppy swing, then snaps her head up—

Right at you. There’s a split second of… processing. Not recognition. Opportunity. You recognize it immediately. Your grip tightens on your bag.

You shake your head, sharp, immediate.

No.

Don’t.

Seriously. Don’t.

Her grin widens. Of course it does.

“Oh—!”

And she’s coming at you.

Fast—but not controlled. All limbs and momentum, like she’s just throwing herself forward and trusting gravity to handle the rest.

You don’t think. You just react. One clean punch. Straight to the nose. She folds back instantly, hands flying up, stumbling a few steps as she makes this sharp, surprised noise.

The hallway’s already calming down. People peeling off, fights ending as quickly as they started.

But she’s still there.

Still in it. She lowers her hands slowly, blinking at you, nose red, eyes watering slightly—

Then she laughs. Loud. Like that was hilarious.

“Oh my god—!”

She wipes under her nose, still grinning, slightly breathless.

“You’re not even— you’re not even in this!”

You just stare at her.

“…No.”

She nods rapidly, like that’s the funniest confirmation she’s ever gotten.

“Yeah—yeah, no, I see that now—!”

Another laugh. No anger. No ego. Just… energy. She straightens up, still buzzing, then sticks a hand out without hesitation.

“Vicky.”

A beat.

Then, proudly—

“Vicky Mouse.”

Something shifts on her shoulder—small, gray, and alive.

A rat.

It peers at you with tiny black eyes, completely unfazed.

“This is Alfreda,” she adds quickly, like you obviously needed to know that. “Don’t worry, she only bites if she thinks you’re lying.”

A pause. Then, narrowing her eyes at you—

“…Are you lying?”