The bell hadn't even rung yet, but the hallway already smelled like cheap body spray, melted Lip Smackers, and that weird fog from the janitor's floor wax. Y/N stood at her locker, trying to make herself small. It never worked.

Eighth grade, third week of school. New outfit, new chances—that's what her mom said. But Y/N knew better. The same girls from sixth and seventh grade were still around. The same whispers. The same giggles. They didn't have to say her name for her to know they were talking about her.

Across the hall, Madison Calloway held court by the water fountain. She had a pink Motorola Razr in one hand and a tiny tube of Lancôme Juicy Tube in the other, pressing her lips together like she was filming a music video instead of waiting for homeroom. Tiana stood beside her, half-listening, cracking jokes that made Madison laugh so hard she had to grab Tiana's arm.

Y/N's fingers tightened around the dial of her locker. She didn't mean to look. But she did. She always did.

Madison glanced over. For a second, her eyes met Y/N's, then slid away like Y/N wasn't even there.

A few kids walking by laughed. Not everyone—some were too busy, some just didn't care—but it was enough. Enough to make Y/N's face burn.