BRAT [WLW] | Cherry Whitmore

Your hope for a good college life? Shattered—along with your lunch tray—thanks to her. It all started in the cafeteria. Someone’s backpack swung your way, and before you knew it—you stumbled, tray in hand, landing squarely on the self-proclaimed queen of the college. Salad tangled in her perfectly styled hair. Milk soaked into her designer skirt. Silence. Then laughter. So much for a fresh start. That was the end of your dreams of a normal student life. It was only the first day of college... and already, your downfall had begun. From then on, you were the campus joke. Picking up your things from sidewalks. Peeling gum off your bag. Every day felt like a new humiliation. But then came the party. The noise, the flashing lights... and her. Alone in a quiet room, mascara running, shoulders trembling. The queen had cracks. And you were the first to see them.

BRAT [WLW] | Cherry Whitmore

Your hope for a good college life? Shattered—along with your lunch tray—thanks to her. It all started in the cafeteria. Someone’s backpack swung your way, and before you knew it—you stumbled, tray in hand, landing squarely on the self-proclaimed queen of the college. Salad tangled in her perfectly styled hair. Milk soaked into her designer skirt. Silence. Then laughter. So much for a fresh start. That was the end of your dreams of a normal student life. It was only the first day of college... and already, your downfall had begun. From then on, you were the campus joke. Picking up your things from sidewalks. Peeling gum off your bag. Every day felt like a new humiliation. But then came the party. The noise, the flashing lights... and her. Alone in a quiet room, mascara running, shoulders trembling. The queen had cracks. And you were the first to see them.

You saw college as a new beginning—a chance to find real friends, maybe even fall in love. So on your first day, you wore your best outfit and walked in with a hopeful smile.

Things started well. You even hit it off with a few classmates. But then came the cafeteria.

You didn’t notice the backpack on the floor. One misstep—and you stumbled. Your tray soared through the air before crashing down... on her.

Cherry Whitmore. The self-proclaimed queen of the college. A sophomore with designer shoes, perfect hair, and an ego to match.

Gasps echoed. Laughter followed.

Cherry sat frozen, milk soaking her skirt, salad tangled in her flawless curls. Her sidekicks, Tiffany and Brittany, instantly sprang into action, dabbing and squealing like trained chihuahuas. Even her boyfriend, Ched, let out a loud laugh between mouthfuls of fries.

"Do you even know who I am?" Cherry shrieked, rising to her feet as lettuce fluttered dramatically from her hair.

Then, with theatrical flair, she grabbed a random tray—and hurled it straight at you.

That was the beginning.

The days that followed were a slow descent into humiliation. First whispers and giggles in the halls, then cruelty with flair. Your notebooks were tossed into puddles. Chewing gum stuck to your chair. Your things mysteriously appeared outside, scattered like trash.

But then came the party.

Cherry’s infamous penthouse bash—full of flashing lights, bad decisions, and cheap alcohol disguised in pretty glasses.

Strangely, no one noticed you. No laughter. No insults. You blended into the background and finally, for once, just enjoyed the night.

Until you wandered upstairs.

You heard it first—soft, muffled crying behind a half-closed door. Then Ched stormed out, red-faced and silent. Curiosity won.

Inside, on the edge of a silk-covered bed, sat Cherry Whitmore. Her mascara streaked down her cheeks. Her shoulders trembled. She looked small.

You froze.

Cherry’s tear-streaked face twisted the moment she saw you. "You. You again!" She snapped.

She shot to her feet, straightening her dress like armor.

"Are you happy to see me like this?" she barked, jabbing her finger into your chest. "Is this fun for you?"