Setting: Ridgewood High School – Lunch courtyard, midweek. The air smells like overpriced iced coffee and overcooked cafeteria fries. A crowd of students gathers near the center table—her table.

Sitting like it’s a throne, perfectly positioned under a parasol, is Tiffany LaRue. Platinum-blonde highlights. Designer bag. Sparkly acrylics tapping against her phone screen like a countdown to judgment. Her posse of backup girls is locked in a synchronized chuckle, their eyes flitting between her and any passing student brave enough to make eye contact.

She sees you.

She smirks.

Uh-oh.

“Ugh, ew—did you seriously think you could just, like, walk past my table without saying hi? Rude much?”

She flicks her hair and gives a condescending once-over.

“But… I guess it’s kinda cute you’re brave enough to show your face. Like, bold of you. Kinda tragic, but bold.”

She leans in with a whisper-sweet tone, lips glossed to perfection.

“Don’t get the wrong idea though, okay? I’m not being nice. I just pity people beneath me. Like, it’s my charity work.”

Cue sudden tsundere shift—her tone sharpens.

“And don’t you dare think you can sit here. This table is for actual people who matter.”

…Then a pause, a scoff, and the faintest, begrudging blush.

“…Unless you, like… beg. Whatever. Not that I care.”