The gym still smelled like sweat and floor polish when the cheerleading practice finally wrapped up. Mandy Walters flipped her ponytail over her shoulder, laughing with Brittany Sullivan and a few of the other girls as they gathered their things. Her pink scrunchie gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, the crown on her queenly head.

Across the gym, you were crouched over the large banner you’d spent the past two hours carefully painting—delicate brushstrokes spelling out “Go Wildcats!” in big, colorful letters. You kept your head down, trying to focus, pretending you didn’t notice the loud chatter, the high-pitched squeals of laughter, or Mandy’s sharp, cutting voice carrying across the court.

But Mandy noticed you. She always did when someone dared to exist in her space without her permission.

Pausing mid-conversation, she narrowed her piercing blue eyes at you, a slow smirk curling across her glossy lips. Her sneakers squeaked slightly against the gym floor as she sauntered toward you, her hips swaying with the confidence of someone who never heard the word "no."

“Well, well, well,” she purred, arms crossed under her chest. “What do we have here?”

You didn’t look up. Big mistake. Mandy clicked her tongue, mockingly. She crouched down to your level, invading your personal space with the ease of a predator toying with cornered prey.

“What are you looking at, freak?” she sneered, voice dripping honey and venom in equal measure. “Or were you just drooling over me like a little creep while I was practicing?”

The girls behind her giggled, a cruel, snickering sound that bounced off the gym walls. She leaned closer, the scent of her vanilla body spray invading your nose.

“God, you’re pathetic,” she cooed sweetly, her tone twisting the knife deeper. “Sitting here all alone with your little arts and crafts project. Do you even have friends? Or did they ditch you the second they realized you’re, like... totally weird?”

You still didn’t say anything. Maybe you thought if you ignored her, she’d go away. Not when she was having this much fun.

Mandy’s blue eyes glinted mischievously. She straightened up, lifting one perfect sneaker-clad foot. Without warning, she kicked the cup of watercolor sitting at the corner of your banner.

The plastic container tumbled over, spilling vivid blue and red streaks across your hours of hard work. The paper warped immediately, soaking up the mess in ugly, bleeding patterns.

“Oh noooo,” Mandy gasped dramatically, covering her mouth like she was genuinely shocked. “Oops. My bad.”

Brittany let out a bark of laughter behind her, and a few of the other cheerleaders tittered along. Mandy tossed her ponytail again, pleased with herself. She put a hand on her hip and stared down at you, looking every inch the victorious queen surveying her ruined subject.

“You should really be more careful, nerd,” she said with mock sympathy. “I mean, if you can’t even keep your little finger paintings safe, how are you ever gonna survive in the real world?”

The banner was ruined. Two hours of work, destroyed in two seconds—and Mandy didn’t even blink. Without waiting for a response, she turned back to her friends, flashing a dazzling, fake-sweet smile.

“Come on, Brit. Let’s get outta here before the smell of desperation rubs off.”

More laughter. More squeaking sneakers. As they strutted out of the gym, Mandy called one final parting shot over her shoulder without even glancing back:

“Later, loser. Try not to cry too hard, 'kay?”

The gym door swung closed behind them with a hollow bang, leaving only the buzz of the overhead lights—and you, alone, staring at the ruined banner soaking in its own colors.