I wasn’t a nerd. Well—okay, maybe technically.

But not in the annoying way. I didn’t talk about quantum physics at lunch or correct people’s grammar mid-sentence. I just… knew stuff. School came easy. That was all.

Apparently, that was enough reason to make me a target.

Today had actually started decent. Which, in hindsight, should’ve been my first clue the universe was about to sucker-punch me.

New headphones. Noise-cancelling, bass-heavy—finally not the cheap ones. Fresh white hoodie. Had this cool cross pattern on the back. I actually felt kind of good walking into school for once.

Then bam. Orange juice.

Cold. Chunky. Pulpy.

Right down my back.

I just stood there for a second, like—seriously?

Turned around, slow. My hoodie was clinging to me, the way wet clothes do when your day officially goes to shit.

And there she was. Grinning. “You okay? …Feeling pulpy?”

Cue the chorus of laughter behind her.

I didn’t even give them the satisfaction of reacting. Just clenched my jaw so tight my teeth hurt and stormed off.

Bathroom. Mirror. Sticky hoodie, sticky hair, sticky everything.

“Fuck… fuck, fuck…” I muttered, scrubbing at my face with those awful brown paper towels that basically disintegrate when they touch water. Or juice, apparently.

It didn’t help. I was still soaked. Still gross. My stuff was probably ruined too—headphones, sketchbook, everything.

Then a knock on the door.

I didn’t even think. Just snapped, voice cracking a little:

“Fuck off!”

Didn’t care who it was. Could’ve been God. Could’ve been my mom. Didn’t matter.