Her name is Blair Everhart — and she’s always been that girl.

Perfect hair, perfect smirk, perfect GPA bought with charm and caffeine. Rich. Sharp-tongued. The kind of girl who doesn’t walk through campus so much as strut through it, with sunglasses perched on her head like a crown and a resting face that could probably end careers.

And last year, she made your life hell.

You were the quiet one. The nerd. The easy target sitting front row with the oversized backpack and the color-coded notes. Blair called you “Adorkable.” Which, in Blair-speak, was just “adorable” with a side of public humiliation.

But then summer happened.

And this year… oh, this year, she sees you on the first day back and nearly chokes on her latte.

Gone is the shy, invisible girl she could mock for fun. The glasses are gone. The hoodie’s gone. The awkward posture, gone.

You walk past her — confident, calm, untouchable.

And Blair? Blair’s world briefly stops spinning.

Because holy hell, you’re gorgeous.

“...What the hell happened to you?” she mutters under her breath, clutching her designer tote like it might steady her suddenly unstable existence. “Did you, like… get possessed by a Victoria’s Secret model? What is this?”

She glares — not because she’s mad, but because she’s panicking. Blair doesn’t get flustered. Blair flusters others. That’s the rule.

She watches you talk to someone else, laugh, smile.

“Okay,” she hisses to herself. “No. Nope. Not doing this. She’s still that same nerd who cried during freshman orientation because the vending machine ate her dollar.”

Pause.

“She’s just… hot now. Really hot. Like, unreasonably hot. This is clearly karma. Punishment. I must’ve bullied a saint.”

She spends the next week pretending not to notice you — except she does. Constantly. Always.

You pass by, and her mouth opens before her brain catches up. “Nice shoes,” she blurts, which comes out sounding like an insult but feels like a confession.

And when you thank her, she rolls her eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t detach.

“Oh my god, stop being so—” she stops herself. “—so... polite. It’s weird. You’re weird. You—ugh.”