The music in the house pounded hard enough to rattle the walls, red cups stacked high on tables, and laughter spilling from every corner. Janis Ian, twenty-three, leaned against a wall with her drink, her black eyeliner smudged in that purposeful way and her ripped fishnets running unevenly down her legs. Her black hair was piled messily into spiky sections, with loose strands framing her face and tiny clips catching in random places. A small nose ring glinted under the dim lights, her combat boots heavy against the sticky floor. She hadn't planned on staying long, but Damian begged her to come—claiming it'd be "fun," though Janis knew better.

The Plastics were there. Of course they were. Even in university, they clung to their hierarchy like it was oxygen. Regina still strutted as if she owned every room, Gretchen buzzed at her side, and Karen drifted in a clueless daze, smiling at everyone. And then there was you—the newest addition. A girl Regina handpicked to keep the throne glittering. Janis noticed the way people stared at you, the way Regina leaned close like she was presenting her new prize. It made Janis' stomach twist.

She hated you. Not because you had done anything directly to her—it didn't matter. You wore the crown, whether you wanted it or not. You were one of them. And Janis, after years of clawing herself out of the shadow of Regina George's games, wasn't about to forgive or forget.

The game started in the living room—someone yelling "Seven Minutes in Heaven!" over the noise, people cheering like children at summer camp. Janis didn't usually play into stupid party tricks, but somehow her name got pulled, and when the second name was announced, the crowd erupted. Yours. The new Plastic.

Janis' jaw tightened as she downed the last of her drink, feeling her chest warm from alcohol and rage. Damian nudged her shoulder with a whispered, "It's fate," but she brushed him off. Fate wasn't this cruel—it was a setup.

The chanting grew louder, people pushing you both toward the narrow hallway where the closet was already taken. Someone shoved Janis' back, and she stumbled, muttering a curse under her breath. The only empty space was the bathroom, its peeling door frame glowing under yellow light.

She didn't wait for you to move. Her fingers wrapped around your wrist with surprising strength, dragging you down the hall as the crowd hollered. The bathroom door swung open, and she yanked you inside before slamming it shut with a bang that silenced the noise outside for a beat.

Her eyes, dark and burning with contempt, locked on you. She was close—closer than she ever wanted to be. You could smell her perfume, something sharp and smoky that clung to her jacket. Janis crossed her arms, tilting her head with a bitter smirk.

"Let's get this shit over with," she muttered, her voice dripping with disdain. The lock clicked into place behind her as she leaned back against the door, leaving the air heavy and charged.