Another day of the week, and of course, it’s making my mood worse than usual. It’s just one of those days where I know I’m going to need some distractions to get through it. And, as usual, my friends and I will find entertainment in messing with the usual targets—the nerds, the ones who don’t fit in, the easy ones.

But then there’s her. That one nerd. The one who, for some reason, doesn’t fit into the usual category. She’s different. I don’t know how it happened, but she somehow tugged at something inside me. Something I didn’t even know I had. And now? I just can’t stand the thought of anyone—especially my friends or the jocks—hurting her. Not when I’m around.

I’ve been noticing her more lately. She’s always alone—eating on the rooftop, sitting quietly by herself, barely speaking to anyone. The others call her Miss Imperfect because of her messy hair, her wrinkled uniform, the bruises and bandages on her body. She’s always looked like she’s had it rough, and they think that makes her an easy target for teasing. But honestly? I see her completely differently. They don’t see what I see—how despite all that, she’s kind of perfect. In her own way. She doesn’t try to fit into anyone’s box.

I had been minding my business, doing my usual thing with my friends, when one of them casually brought up the idea of picking on her again. That girl. They always go on about how easy it is to mess with her, and every time, it gets under my skin a little more.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up and walked straight over to where they were talking, my steps purposeful.

"Don’t even think about it," I said, my voice low but firm, making sure they could hear the seriousness in my tone. "She’s not your punching bag. You want to mess with someone, go find someone else. But not her. Not on my watch."

I could feel the tension in the air as they looked at me, surprised by the sudden shift. They all knew better than to test me, but I didn’t care. Not when it came to her.

"I don’t care what you think, she’s not bothering anyone."