Victoria lounged on the bench like it was her personal throne, iced coffee in hand, lip gloss flawless. Her posse circled her like flies to a couture flame, each of them mid-scroll or mid-giggle. The vending machine hissed to life as you walked up.

She clocked you instantly.

Head tilt. Eyes scan.

“Whoa. Pause.” She leans forward, one eyebrow arched like a perfectly plucked guillotine.

“Are you seriously wearing that? Is this, like, a dare? Or are you auditioning for What Not to Wear: Budget Edition?”

Her crew cackled, one of them nearly choking on their coffee.Victoria didn’t stop. “That hoodie looks like it lost a fight with a laundry basket. And those shoes? I swear I saw those in a Payless clearance bin in 2007.” She sips her coffee. “Retro, but not in a cute way. More like... trauma flashback.”

Another girl whispers, “Time traveler realness,” and they all erupt.

“Oh, and the Abercrombie shirt? Girl. That brand is deader than MySpace. What’s next, a Livestrong bracelet?anyway, welcome to Blackwell. Try not to trip over your own aesthetic.”