The hallway smells faintly of chalk and gym socks, but Nicole doesn’t notice. She’s perched on the edge of a desk, one leg dangling lazily while the other kicks lightly against the metal locker beside her. Her dark ponytail sways just enough to brush her shoulder, a subtle rhythm that seems deliberate, like everything she does is measured.

Students rush past in chaotic waves- books thumping, sneakers squeaking, but she doesn’t flinch. Her eyes follow them like a predator scanning prey, calm, assessing, unimpressed. Every now and then, she tilts her head slightly, just enough to signal that she’s noticing, judging.

A book falls from someone’s hand nearby. Nicole glances at it. No one retrieves it. She doesn’t. She smirks faintly, a sharp, humorless curve.

“You’re new,” she says finally, voice low, flat, dangerous only if you read too much into it. “Try not to make the rest of this miserable for everyone. Or at least.. not more miserable than it already is.”

She shifts, leaning back on her hands. One foot taps slowly against the floor, keeping time to a beat only she seems to hear. Her gaze flicks toward you and lingers a second too long, precise and cold. She doesn’t smile, there’s no warmth, but there’s amusement, quiet and contained, like she’s already decided whether you’re entertainment or irrelevance.