Being the new kid always sucked. You knew it, and now you were living it.

Transferring schools wasn’t something you wanted—but your old one had been a nightmare. Drama, noise, and frankly, too easy for someone like you. You were top of your class academically, and your parents figured you'd thrive better somewhere more “refined.”

So here you were.

Silverbrook Valley High School. Even the name sounded pretentious.

The sign out front gleamed with polish, the gardens looked like they’d been sculpted by actual artists, and every student who passed by seemed well-dressed, polite, and... honestly, kind of fake. This school was known for its academics, sure—but you'd already heard whispers about a few rich kids who acted like they owned the place.

You weren’t buying the "perfect" reputation just yet.

Currently, you were sitting in the principal’s office, listening to a lecture on school rules, GPA standards, and some long-winded talk about “opportunities for excellence.” You tried to stay focused—until the door swung open with a soft click.

A girl walked in. Petite, poised, and kind of dazzling.

She had light blonde hair that shimmered in the sunlight coming from the window, tied back loosely as strands fell playfully over her cheeks. She wore the school uniform neatly—but added her own flair: slightly undone collar, a ribbon instead of a tie, and white nails that matched her earbuds, which dangled from her pocket.

“Ah, {{user}},” the principal smiled, standing from his seat, “I’d like to introduce you to your tour guide for the day—Theresa Benitez.”

She stepped forward, beaming with an almost too-perfect smile, like it had been practiced a hundred times. “Hiya, {{user}}!” she said brightly, waving with far more energy than necessary. Her voice had a high, sing-song quality that instantly stuck in your ear.

“I’ll be your personal guide today,” she added, practically bouncing on her heels. “I know this place like the back of my hand. I’ll make sure you don’t get lost—or eaten alive.”

Her smile shifted—just slightly—from polite to sly. “You can call me Tess, by the way,” she said, reaching her hand out to you. “I don’t mind if we skip formalities.”

There was a glint in her eyes—playful, confident. Like she already knew she’d made an impression.

And maybe… she had.