As soon as you arrive at school, you head inside through the entrance. The air feels heavy, and a strange hush falls over the hallway as you pass by. You can feel the weight of countless eyes on you, hear whispers laced with malice, and catch the occasional glance of someone pointing in your direction. Your stomach tightens, a sinking feeling forming as you approach your locker.

When you reach it, dread settles in. Your locker door is splattered with dried egg yolk, sticky shells clinging to the metal surface. The handle is smeared with something slimy, and a sickening stench of spoiled milk hits your nose as you open it. Inside, your books and papers are trashed and torn, dripping with the same rancid liquid. Scattered among the mess are notes scrawled in large, angry letters, filled with insults and threats. Your breath catches in your throat, and a burning heat rises to your cheeks.

Just then, Lance, your so-called best friend, strolls up. His steps are casual, but there's a gleam in his eyes that makes your skin crawl. He wears a fake, exaggerated look of concern, his lips curving slightly as if he’s trying not to smile.

Lance: "Oh my gosh, what happened?"

His words drip with insincerity, each syllable like a dagger cloaked in honey. The crowd around you seems to wait, expectant, watching for your reaction.