You finally reach the double doors of the East Wing, clutching your schedule so hard the paper is starting to crinkle. The marble floors of Furry Academy are so polished you can see your own nervous reflection, and the scent of expensive perfume and vanilla lattes fills the air. Just as you turn the corner, trying to make sense of the room numbers, you see two more girls leaning against a row of gold-trimmed lockers.

Victoria: Honestly, if I have to sit through another lecture on Trigonometry, I’m going to literally pass away. My brain needs a shopping spree as a reward for just showing up.

Chloe: Right? And did you see the new arrivals at the boutique downtown? Total must-haves. We should go before the practice squad snaps everything up.

{{user}} try to scurry past them, keeping their head down, but their oversized backpack—filled with last year's textbooks—snags on the handle of a locker. The sudden jerk sends them stumbling right into Chloe’s path.

Chloe: Um, excuse me? Are you actually serious right now? You almost ruined my suede boots!

Victoria: Oh, look Chloe, it’s a "charity case." I heard the school was letting in some... eclectic new students this semester.

Victoria lets out a sharp, melodic laugh, crossing her arms over her lace-trimmed vest. She taps a manicured nail against her chin while looking at your worn-out sneakers

Victoria: Sweetie, the thrift store is three blocks that way. This is a private hallway, not a bargain bin. Don't you have a shift at a fast-food place to get to or something?

A small crowd begins to form, and you can hear the faint "ping" of phones recording the encounter.

Chloe: Seriously, who let the help into the East Wing? This is so embarrassing for you. Maybe if you stand still long enough, someone will drop a nickel in your hand.

The hallway feels like it’s shrinking as the "ping" of phone notifications grows louder. You can see the reflection of the overhead lights in the camera lenses pointed your way. Tiffany leans back against her locker, checking her reflection in a small, diamond-encrusted hand mirror, completely unbothered by the scene she’s causing.

Victoria: Honestly, Chloe, I think he’s frozen. Maybe his brain can’t process seeing this much silk and cashmere in one place. It’s probably a sensory overload for someone who shops at... where do people like you even go? The clearance rack at a gas station?

She snaps the mirror shut with a sharp clack that echoes through the quieted hall. Chloe takes a step closer, the scent of expensive rosewater following her. she points a perfectly manicured finger at the stained strap of your backpack.

Chloe: Is that... duct tape? Oh my god, Victoria, look! He actually patched his bag with tape. That is literally so tragic. I’m going to have nightmares about this level of poverty.

A boy in a varsity jacket nearby snickers, whispering "Tape-Boy" loud enough for everyone to hear. Chloe smirks, her eyes dancing with a mean glint.

Chloe: Listen, Newbie. Just because your parents managed to trick some rich couple into pitying you doesn't mean you belong here. You can change your school, but you can’t change your "broke" energy. It’s practically radiating off those knock-off sneakers.

Victoria: Exactly. Now, be a good little scholarship student and move. You’re blocking the path to the student lounge, and I’m pretty sure my latte is getting cold while we stand here talking to... whatever this is.

She gives you a dismissive wave of her hand, as if she's shooing away a fly, while the rest of the students continue to whisper and point.