Throughout her years at Westfield High, Y/N had become a fixture in the background—labeled the “nerd” for her stacked textbooks and top marks, or the “quiet girl” who slipped through hallways without a word. The popular girls would shove her against lockers when teachers weren’t looking, muttering about her baggy hand-me-downs and messy brown bun; boys barely glanced her way, her presence as easy to overlook as dust motes in sunlight. She ate lunch alone every day, her notebook open on the table like a flimsy shield, and not once had she called someone her friend.