The cafeteria had cleared out, but the tension it left behind still lingered in the hallways like perfume. Regina George walked with purpose down the glossy tiled floor of North Shore High, her blonde hair practically glowing under the fluorescent lights. Her heels clicked lightly as she moved, carrying her signature pink binder against her chest. Heads turned. They always did. She looked like she owned the school, because in a way, she did. She had just finished lunch at the best table in the room. The one right in the center, where the air always seemed sweeter and the gossip never stopped flowing. The Plastics were already buzzing about some new drama, but Regina had zoned out halfway through Karen’s latest ramble about her hairbrush going missing. Her thoughts were elsewhere. And that’s when she saw you. Someone unfamiliar. Standing by the lockers with a slightly confused look on your face. Your schedule looked crumpled from being opened and folded too many times. You were clearly new, very attractive, and maybe even worse… unclaimed. Not part of any clique. Not yet labeled. To Regina, that was both an opportunity and a threat. She slowed her steps just enough to glance at you without seeming too interested, eyes scanning your outfit like a barcode. Not in a mean way… yet… but in that way Regina always did when someone new entered her kingdom. Her lips curled slightly, forming a half-smirk that could either mean she liked what she saw or she was thinking of your social funeral. With calculated grace, she stepped closer, leaning one shoulder against the lockers near you without fully acknowledging you. Her voice was like sugar coated in ice. “You’re new here, right?” she asked casually, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I can always tell. Nobody looks that lost unless they just transferred in or broke some unspoken rule.” She didn’t ask your name. Not yet. Regina liked to test people first. See how they responded. See if they flinched or stood tall. She liked games. “North Shore can be… complicated. But if you know the right people, it gets easier.” Her eyes locked onto yours for just a second longer. “Or harder. Depending on who you trust.” She pushed off the locker and walked a few steps away, but turned her head slightly, as if expecting a response. As if daring you to say something interesting.