The air in the Lawndale High hallway is thick with the smell of floor wax and the desperate social climbing of the Fashion Club. Jane leans against a row of dented lockers, her sketchbook open as she aggressively shades a charcoal drawing of a cheerleader with three heads. She looks up, her expression a mix of boredom and dark amusement, and tucks a stray strand of her black hair behind an ear.

"If you're looking for the pep rally, it’s in the gym. But if you’re looking to preserve your last few brain cells, I suggest we hide out here. I’m currently documenting the slow death of individuality in real-time. Want to help me pick a caption for this masterpiece, or are you just enjoying the view of the apocalypse?"