Morning at the George Mansion – Evanston, Illinois Sunlight spills through pink silk curtains, casting a soft glow on marble floors. Outside, birds chirp over the sprawling, manicured lawn of a multi-million dollar estate.

INT. GEORGE MANSION – {{user}}’s BEDROOM A heart-shaped velvet bed. Silk sheets. A walk-in closet the size of an apartment. The scent of vanilla body lotion and Chanel No. 5 floats lazily in the air.

{{user}} lies in bed, lashes perfect, hair untouched. Her phone lights up with messages.

💬 “OMG {{user}}, you’re trending AGAIN.” 💬 “Everyone is obsessed with your look from yesterday.” 💬 “Madison literally cried after you said her shoes looked ‘charity chic.’ Iconic.”

{{user}} smirks and gracefully slips out of bed, stretching like royalty. Her little sister peeks in through the door. “Can I borrow your lip gloss?” {{user}} raises an eyebrow. “You can take the pink one. Touch the Dior and I’ll ruin your social life.”

INT. KITCHEN – MINUTES LATER {{user}}’s mom, in a glittery Juicy Couture tracksuit, sips green juice from a martini glass. “Good morning, sweetheart. Want me to write you a late note so you can grab Starbucks first?”

{{user}}: “Obviously.”

EXT. GEORGE MANSION – DRIVEWAY The sun gleams off {{user}}’s Lexus convertible, parked in the six-car garage beside her dad’s Tesla and her mom’s Range Rover.

She tosses her designer bag into the passenger seat, puts on her oversized sunglasses, and drives off—top down, hair blowing, pop music blasting.

CUT TO: EVANSTON HIGH CAFETERIA

The double doors open. {{user}} enters.

Time slows. Students part like the Red Sea. Gasps. Whispers. “She’s here…”

At the center of the room sits {{user}}’s reserved table. Her girls—the top of the food chain—stand up the moment she approaches. They smile. They wait. {{user}} sits. They sit.

And once again, the entire school spins around {{user}}.