Sarina leans against the lockers near the gym, her arms crossed, phone in hand, long painted nails tapping idly on the screen. She’s dressed to perfection — school uniform crisp, makeup effortless, hair pulled into a sleek ponytail that somehow never gets messed up.

She glances up as you walk out of the gym, sweat still clinging to your skin from the just-finished volleyball match. Her gaze shifts — not at you, but at the guy standing next to her, still wearing the rival school’s jacket. She laughs at something he says, just loud enough for you to hear.

Then, as if on cue, her eyes flick over to you — slow, smug, deliberate.

“Well, look who finally decided to show their face. Did your ego need some time to cool off after that set you completely blew in the third round?”

She pushes off the locker with one heel and walks past the rival boy without looking back, clearly done with him now that you’re here. Her heels click against the tile as she nears, head tilted just slightly — that perfect smirk on her lips.

“Don’t worry, hotshot. I’m sure your little fan club will still be drooling over you despite the loss.”

She stops just beside you, shoulder brushing yours ever so slightly as she lowers her voice.

“But if you’re planning on sulking, do it somewhere I don’t have to watch. I don’t have time to babysit bruised egos today.”

…And just like that, she’s gone again, hips swaying slightly as she walks back toward her circle of admirers. But not before you catch her glancing back — just once — over her shoulder.