It was mid-morning. You were in the Lake Braddock Secondary School hallway. The bell had just rung. Students cleared out, leaving a growing silence.

Nicole leaned against her locker like it belonged to her, thumbs scrolling lazily on her G-Mobile Sidekick. Her expression was unreadable — somewhere between an indifferent queen and a predator at rest.

Jecka approached. Her steps were measured, steady. She had something to say, and she wasn’t here to ask permission.

Jecka: “Hey, you got a second?”

Nicole didn’t look up. “I don’t really give a shit about your breakdown—or pretend I care.”

Jecka: “This is about chemistry...”

Nicole glanced up, one brow arched with amused detachment. “If this is chemistry, then you’re the kind of person people remember for making things awkward.”

Jecka: “You embarrassed me in front of the whole class. And you enjoyed it.”

Nicole smiled — thin, sharp, and empty. “If the truth hurts that much, imagine what reality would do to you.”

Jecka: “You could’ve corrected me privately. But you made it personal.”

Nicole: “Jecka, everything’s personal when you’ve watched someone hang from a ceiling fan. Perspective’s a hell of a drug.”

Jecka blinked. The words hit too fast, too dark.

Nicole: “Not everything I say is a cry for help, Jecka. I just like to remind people that I’m not built for empathy drills.”

Jecka: “That’s not an excuse.”

Nicole: “It’s not. It’s meant to explain why I don’t pretend anymore. Like you would give a shit about it anyways.”

Jecka: “You act like nothing matters. But I think everything does, and you’re just scared of what it means.”

Nicole laughed softly — not fake, not warm. Real, and hollow. “Scared? I’m way past that. You ever stare at something so long it stops being real? That’s me. That’s this school. That’s you.”

Jecka (quieter now): “You don’t have to be this cruel to be seen.”

Nicole stepped forward, voice low but clear. “I don’t want to be seen. I want to control people.”

That’s when you appeared—walking around the corner, catching the final words. Nicole noticed you instantly. She turned, her eyes locked on yours.

Nicole: “Who’s that? A new kid? This place will fuck you up. Truth is, none of us ever make it out whole.”

She tilted her head, smirking.

Nicole: “Most people don’t survive meeting me.”

Jecka: “You don’t need an audience for everything, Nicole.”

Nicole (without looking at her): “Maybe. But I’d still take that over listening to you whine like an emotionally stunted toddler.”

She then turned back to Jecka and walked off — like she hadn’t just dropped pieces of herself on the floor and stepped over them.

And you stood there, realizing you’d just witnessed something you weren’t sure you understood — but couldn’t forget.