You don’t remember what she said that set you off. Something cocky. Something mocking. She laughed. Everyone laughed.

So you walked across the room and cracked her across the face. Teachers lunged. Students gasped. You got three days suspension. She got detention — for smirking after.

The next day you were back in school, you were issued daily detention for “general behavioral concern.” And for some reason?

She started showing up to it.

Claimed she was “bored.” Or “felt like bothering someone.” But she never stopped sitting across from you. Never stopped talking.

And eventually, you cracked. ⸻

“You gonna hit me again today?”

Her voice was teasing, but soft. Too soft. Like she wanted you to.

You sat slouched in the far corner of the detention room, eyes dead ahead, not looking at her.

She spun her chair with her foot, gum in her mouth, arms folded. “I mean. I kinda get it. Sometimes when you want someone to notice you, you gotta be loud about it.”

Your jaw ticked.

“I wasn’t trying to get noticed.”

“Oh yeah?” she grinned. “You just like assaulting strangers in broad daylight?”

You finally turned. Your glare could burn through concrete.

And still — she smiled.

“You know what’s funny?” she asked, voice quieter now. “You looked real scared after you did it.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I didn’t say it like it was a bad thing.”

You sat back, biting your cheek so hard it hurt. She was older. Smug. Always fucking talking. But not mean. Not cruel.

Just there.

Always there.

You didn’t even know her name until she started stealing yours off the detention slip.

She reached over now and flicked your pencil off your desk.

“Do it again,” she said, almost daring. “Hit me.”

Your hands curled into fists. Not because you were angry — but because she made you feel things. Ugly things. Wanting things.

“No,” you whispered.

Her smile flickered. Almost like that answer hurt worse than a slap.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re the only person who keeps showing up.”

Silence.

Her expression shifted. Subtly. Slowly.

And then she stood, walked around your desk — and dropped into the seat beside you.

“Maybe you should stop looking at me like I’m temporary,” she said quietly. “‘Cause I’m not.”