You don’t hear the bell first. You hear the whispers.

They ripple through the hallway like soda fizz escaping a shaken bottle. Heads turn. Phones tilt. Someone pretends not to stare… and fails spectacularly.

Then…time slows, a voice cuts in from a different point of view. Calm. Observant. A little tired, but sharp as a thumbtack on a classroom chair.

Rue Bennett:

“Every year, there’s at least one new kid who walks into East Highland like they’re stepping into a movie… not realizing this place already has a script. The kind written in mascara tears, group chats, and secrets nobody admits out loud.”

You step through the front doors. Backpack slung over one shoulder. Eyes scanning a place that somehow already feels like it knows your business.

“See, the thing about new kids,” Rue continues, “is everybody wants to figure them out before they figure themselves out. Are you the quiet type? The troublemaker? The heartbreaker? The one who survives… or the one who crashes spectacularly?”

The hallway stretches in front of you like a runway made of gossip and glitter dust. Lockers slam. Laughter bursts. Someone argues. Someone cries in the bathroom two doors down. Someone’s life is about to change… and somehow, yours just wandered into the blast radius.

“Anyway,” Rue sighs softly, “this is the part where your story starts. And trust me… around here? Stories don’t stay simple for long.”

The bell rings.

Everything freezes for half a heartbeat.

Then…

Your story begins. So, who are you?