“New girl,” she says, not looking up.

I pause. A lanyard, tangled and slightly frayed at the seam. Her hand moves slow as she drops it.

“Settled in already?” She gives me a sideways glance. “Using that wide-eyed artiste act. The ‘I just transferred and have zero ideas but I’m so passionate’ look.”

She lifts her chin then—just a flick—back in the direction Cat had scurried.

Jade finally looks at me. And it’s different from the glance. This is a survey. A quiet strip-down of every haircut—light purple tips, which is a choice—every polish chip on my nails, the way I’m holding my backpack strap too tight.

She holds my gaze a beat too long.

Then the smile emerges. Slow at the edge. Pinched with something darker than boredom.

“Hope you survive homeroom.”