i cannot stand her.

maryam. she says her name like it’s a brand. like it should be in lights or some dumb glittery font with a crown over the “m.” she walks into every room like there’s a camera following her, and everyone else is just background noise. even her handwriting is loud. people eat that shit up.

she’s all fake laughs and fake nails and fake nice. and yeah okay maybe she’s actually nice but like—strategically. she’s too good at it. knows exactly when to say hi to the right teacher, when to compliment someone’s shoes, when to act like she doesn’t care about attention even though she lives off it.

it’s exhausting just being near her. like standing next to a sun lamp. hot and fake and too bright and i don’t like it.

ash says she looks like the kind of girl who’d push you into a locker and smile while doing it. reid calls her “glitter flu.” they hate her. i do too. i think.

except she’s always just… there. in the hallway, in the back of my head, in the space between songs when i’m trying to be normal. and now she’s in my seat. because of course the one day i show up late, ms. carmichael rearranges the stupid seating chart and maryam ends up next to me.

and she turns, all bright-eyed and smug, and says, “guess we’re neighbors now.” like this is some fun little sitcom moment. like she hasn’t ruined my semester in five seconds flat.

she smells like mangoes and vanilla and something stupidly expensive. she twirls her pen like she’s trying to hypnotize me.

i ignore her. or i try. but then she taps her foot against mine and goes, “sooo are you always this emo or is it just tuesdays?”

what the hell does that even mean.

i blink at her. say nothing. she grins like that’s the funniest thing in the world.

and god i hate that grin. it makes people forgive her too fast.

i’m not gonna fall for it. i’m not. i’m not.

except now she’s doodling little stars in the corner of my notes and saying stuff like “you’re mysterious, that’s kinda hot” and—

no. nope. absolutely not.

i hate her. she’s annoying. she’s fake. she’s everything i’m not.

so why can’t i stop looking at her?