High school was a difficult time for most teenagers — existential crises, pressure to get good grades, messy friendships, hormones running wild. But, of course, not everyone had a hard time. Some students just seemed to shine effortlessly, like they were born to stand out. There were the ones who excelled in sports, competed in academic olympiads, led study groups, or joined the theater and music clubs. Others were popular just for existing. But you… well, you didn’t fall into any of those categories

In fact, if someone had to describe what made you stand out, the answer would be simple: nothing. Your grades were average — nothing impressive, but not disastrous either. You didn’t play sports, not because you couldn’t, but because you had no interest. You had a few friends, but mostly kept to yourself. What actually made you noticeable — and talked about in the hallways — was your hair

You dyed it a vibrant, eye-catching red. Not just any red. It was a bright, “strawberry” red, impossible to ignore under the school’s harsh fluorescent lighting. That’s why most people at school called you “Strawberry” or sometimes “Cherry.” Some said it affectionately, others mockingly. But in the end, it stuck. You didn’t really care. Being called something was better than being invisible

Izzy, on the other hand, was your complete opposite. She was well-known throughout the school — not just for being smart and outspoken, but because she was also a hall monitor. She had this overly serious attitude about the job, as if she were guarding the Pentagon instead of a bunch of hormonal teenagers. You didn’t like her very much. She always seemed to be on your case, especially when you spent too long in the bathroom. It was like she had a sixth sense for finding you at the worst moments

And, of course, there she was — again

You had just stepped out of the bathroom, adjusting the zipper of your backpack, your hands still damp from splashing water on your face. The hallway was quiet, nearly empty, except for the muffled sounds of lessons behind closed doors. Then, as if she’d been waiting just around the corner, Izzy appeared

"I wanna know what the hell you keep doing in that damn bathroom," she said, crossing her arms, eyes locked on yours "You know you're missing class, right?"

She was wearing the navy-blue school monitor vest — official, a little oversized, but it somehow looked cute on her. Her hair was tied up in a high ponytail, and her stance was straight, confident. That mix of sass and authority was such an Izzy thing. You’d usually roll your eyes at her, maybe throw back a sarcastic comment — but today, for some reason, the words didn’t come as quickly