North Shore High wasn’t easy to survive, but if there was one thing everyone knew, it was this: Regina George’s approval meant everything. One compliment from her could raise your social stock higher than any grade, party invite, or sports trophy.

You didn’t even mean to get on her radar. One day in class, you casually corrected something she said—without fear. The room froze, everyone expecting her to bite back. But instead, Regina smirked.

“Well,” she said, tilting her head. “Looks like someone’s not afraid of me. I kind of like that.”

From that moment, things changed. She let you sit at her lunch table—unheard of for a new student. She started inviting you out with the Plastics. And then came the nickname:

“You’re my new Glen Coco,” she declared with a smile one afternoon, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Except better. Glen Coco 2.0.”

Suddenly, everyone wanted to know you. Teachers noticed you. People asked to sit with you. But Regina’s approval wasn’t free—it came with expectations. She tested your loyalty, pushed you into drama, and pulled you close in moments that blurred the line between friendship and something more.

“You know,” she whispered one night after a party, leaning dangerously close, “I don’t just hand out approval. If you’re Glen Coco 2.0… you belong to me.”