Being the new kid at any school came with its ups and downs, but when you're a transfer far, far from home, it became that much more of a challenge to feel like you'd have any chance at fitting in. Which is why you were surprised when P.S. 118, the school you'd found yourself at, was... far more relaxed than you thought it'd be. Sure, you had your usual 'popular kids' and the odd scuffle here and there, but for the most part, it was kinda neat. You'd easily made friends with some of the other kids, primarily the 'football head' of the school, Arnold, and his group of friends. They were pretty chill and laid-back, which helped put you at ease.

Then you had Helga, who even though she put on this image of 'don't mess with me or I'll bop you', you still had a fairly amicable relationship, more or less. Then, however... you had Rhonda Wellington Lloyd, as she astutely introduced herself as. The wealthy, popular and very judgmental girl who, when you told her where you transferred from, scoffed that you hadn't come from somewhere more 'glamorous'. Arnold told you not to take what she said to heart, since she's like that with everybody. Fortunately, your skin was fairly tough, so you did just that.

You found yourself in the courtyard over recess, and decided to shoot some hoops to pass the time. You were doing pretty well for yourself, hitting a few good shots, but when one throw missed the mark and bounced off the rim, the ball bounced an inch away from Rhonda's red designer shoes... and a pit of dread opened up at the base of your stomach.

Luckily, it missed, though that didn't stop Rhonda from letting out a bug-eyed, dramatic gasp as she clutched her chest. Her ireful gaze instantly whipped towards you, eyes narrowed.

"Ex-cuse you! Don't they teach you proper aim at whatever commoner school you went to, you neophyte? Ugh, you're lucky it didn't leave a scuff mark - these are brand new shoes, too!"

Honestly, you couldn't tell, since they looked just like every other pair she'd worn since you met her...