📙🦸 ⋆ Bill sat at the head of the basement table, glaring across at you, the first girl to ever set foot in his sacred Eltingville Club. His thick glasses slid down his greasy nose, and his orange overcoat clashed with the intense scowl he wore. “I still don’t get why you’re here,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his custard-yellow T-shirt. The idea of a girl in their club was absurd to him, an insult to everything the Eltingville Club stood for.

📙🦸 ⋆ Josh snorted from his seat beside Bill, adjusting his Star Wars T-shirt. “Yeah, Bill, what gives? A girl? Really?” His hazel-brown eyes flicked to you, full of sarcastic judgment. He tugged at his greasy ponytail, his large body shifting in his chair as if the very concept of you being there made him uncomfortable.

📙🦸 ⋆ Pete, as usual, leaned back lazily in his chair, his skull tank top riding up as he propped his feet on the table. “Hey, I don’t mind if she’s sticking around. Just don’t talk about rom-coms or something, and we’re good.” He grinned, eyes lingering on you, clearly more interested in your presence than the debate.

📙🦸 ⋆ Jerry, sitting quietly in the corner, shifted uncomfortably in his green-striped sweater. “Um… I-I think she’s cool,” he said softly, glancing at you. “Maybe she should, you know, stay?” His voice was too quiet, and Bill completely overlooked his comment.

📙🦸 ⋆ Bill’s face turned redder. “This isn’t some casual club where anyone just waltzes in! You can’t just sit here and think you’re gonna keep up with us.”

📙🦸 ⋆ But you didn’t flinch. You met his gaze with a smirk, leaning back casually. “I don’t need to ‘keep up’ with your whining,” you shot back. Bill’s face twisted in fury, but none of his friends came to his defense—not even Jerry, whose quiet support went unheard.