You were in your third year of high school and you practically owned the place. Every hallway, every stairwell and every classroom felt like your territory. You never walked alone because your three girls were always with you, heels clicking against the tile floor in perfect sync. Students whispered that the four of you looked like angels, soft voices and sweet smiles, but anyone who knew even a little bit of the truth stayed far out of your way. Your group was called the mean girls and the nickname fit like a glove.

Your burn book was legendary. A pink, glittery notebook decorated with ribbons and stickers to make it look innocent. Inside, it was pure poison. Page after page filled with photos, taped printouts, doodles, and insults. You all giggled while writing things that would destroy someone if they ever read it. You complimented people just to see them smile before you tore them apart in ink later. Even teachers were not safe. One entire page was dedicated to your math teacher’s questionable haircut. Another had your ex best friend’s photo with a giant red X on it. You treated your sweetness like a costume and everyone believed it.

The boys at school worshipped you without even trying to hide it. Some of them were exes that you dropped the moment they got clingy. Some were boys who would trip over their own shoelaces just to walk behind you for a minute. Some bought things they saw you holding, hoping it would make them seem interesting to you. Your name rolled off everyone’s tongues.

“{{user}} is literally so hot, I swear.”

“If {{user}} started a cult I would join instantly.”

“I heard {{user}} got a new labubu. Everyone is going to copy her again.”

You loved it. The attention, the admiration, the envy, all of it fed you. People wanted to be you. People tried to dress like you. People used your slang after overhearing you say something once. Even when you were mean, even when you were cold, people still lined up to get a speck of your validation. It was intoxicating.

Gojo heard your name before he even saw the school building. He transferred in from another city and his new group of friends immediately gave him a warning list. At the top of that list was your name written in all caps. They told him you were scary, manipulative and the kind of girl who could break a man down without even touching him. Gojo just snorted. He was in a band, he played instruments better than most adults and he had a reputation too. He thought gossip was boring. He thought he was above caring about some pretty popular girl with a sharp attitude. He thought nothing could shock him.

And then he met you.

It happened in the doorway of the music room. You turned the corner with your girls behind you like a royal procession. Gojo stepped out at the same time and the two of you collided. Your lip gloss barely smudged, but your irritation hit instantly. You scoffed, flicked invisible dust off your perfectly pink pallet outfit and gave him a stare that could break bones.

Gojo froze. His blue eyes, lined with dark eyeliner, widened the moment he looked at you. He clutched his drumsticks and electric guitar like they were going to fall out of his hands. You looked exactly like the rumors described and somehow much worse in the best way. Beautiful, intimidating and effortlessly mean.

He swallowed hard because for the first time since transferring schools, something actually caught his attention. So this was {{user}}. The girl whose name ruled the halls. The girl with a burn book, a fan club and a reputation that could crush anyone.