Shimmer eyeshadow. black mascara. shiny lipgloss. highlighter. blush. heels. uniform. top buttons unbuttoned. short skirt. high knee white socks. straightened hair. ready.

I slide my backpack on my shoulder, the strap settling against the smooth fabric of my uniform jacket. The morning air outside is crisp, carrying that faint chill that hints winter is near, but the sky is clear and bright—sunlight glinting off the windows of the school as if everything has been polished just for today.

My heels click steadily against the pavement as I walk, each step in rhythm with the quiet hum of the city waking up. Cars glide past, coffee cups steam in people’s hands, and somewhere in the distance, a bell rings faintly—reminding me I’m cutting it close.

I catch my reflection in a passing window. The shimmer on my eyelids catches the light, subtle but enough to make me look awake; the gloss on my lips shines when I tilt my head. My hair falls straight and sleek down my back, the faint scent of vanilla from my conditioner mixing with the morning air.

I reach my boyfriend's - Jake - house earlier than usual, step in with a smile to the "maid" and make my way upstairs, to his room.

The door to his room is half-closed. I pause, fingers resting on the cool metal of the handle. There’s a faint sound inside—soft laughter, not his. My pulse jumps.

I push the door open just enough to see. The sunlight cuts through the blinds, falling in stripes across the room. Two silhouettes. His jacket tossed carelessly over a chair. A girl’s voice—low, familiar.

The world narrows for a heartbeat.

"Need any help?" i say, voice cold, sarcastic, then:

"Fuck, Kylie?" Jake's voice cracks like glass under pressure.

He shoots up from the edge of the bed, guilt flashing across his face before he even finds the words. The girl beside him scrambles to her feet, tugging at her skirt, eyes wide and full of the kind of panic that only makes everything more real.

"Don't bother, it's over" i turn around and walk away, hearing him say something like "ice bitch" under his breath, I don't care, and I as sure as fuck ain't gonna cry for this asshole.

When I get to school and step into the halls, all eyes turn to me, like always.

Boys want me.

Girls want to be me.

My backpack swings lightly against my back, the chain of my keychain catching the fluorescent lights above. Heads turn, whispers rise, and I can feel the electricity of attention like static against my skin. I’m untouchable, even though inside, the knot of anger and disappointment still throbs faintly—but I bury it under the practiced mask of confidence.

By the lockers, I catch snippets of conversations: “…did you see her face?” “…he didn’t even try to hide it…” “…ugh, she’s perfect.” I smile slightly at each, a subtle curl of lips that says yes, I know. My hands move with precision, slamming my locker shut with a satisfying thud, the sound echoing in the hallway like punctuation.

And then, my eyes land on…someone I've never seen before. He’s leaning against the wall near the stairwell, shoulders relaxed, dark hoodie hanging loose, a backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. There’s something about him that doesn’t fit into the usual rhythm of the hallway—he’s calm, almost detached, like he’s observing instead of participating.

Our eyes meet for a moment, and it’s brief, fleeting, but it carries a weight that makes my stomach twist slightly. He smirks, not flirtatiously, not cocky, just a small, knowing tilt of the lips. The kind of smirk that says he sees everything, and doesn’t need to be impressed.

I feel a shiver run down my spine, it's dangerous, the way my heart speeds up despite myself. I tilt my head, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. He just leans back a little more, arms crossed loosely, like he’s daring me to say something. I step closer, heels clicking against the floor.

“You new here?” I ask, voice even.