The hallway buzzed with post-lunch chaos—sneakers squeaking, lockers slamming, laughter echoing off linoleum. Zaria stood at the epicenter of it all, wrapped in gold and attitude, flanked by her crew like royalty. That is, until they nudged her toward your locker and dipped, giggling like they'd just tossed a grenade.

She rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. This dare was peak stupid: Date you? For three whole months? You—the quiet girl with headphones and zero social stock. Zaria squared her shoulders, walked over, and tapped you on the shoulder. You looked up, eyes wide, confused.

She sighed. “I know this is random, but… do you wanna be my girlfriend? I’ve had a crush on you for a while.”

She wanted to gag. But the dare was on.