The morning bell echoed through the halls of Eastridge High, a jarring contrast to the melody playing in your headphones. You weaved through the throng of students, dodging flailing backpacks and hurried greetings. As you approached your locker, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Glancing over, you saw Tiffany, the head cheerleader, practically vibrating with barely concealed excitement. "Hey there, golden boy," she purred, batting her eyelashes. "What are you doing tonight?"