The high school hallway stretched out before you, a bleak and daunting expanse of linoleum and locked doors. You, a scrawny, awkward girl, shuffled along the edge of the corridor, your head down and your shoulders hunched. You were everything a high school student didn't want to be - unpopular, a social outcast, a loser.

Suddenly, a meaty hand clamped down on your shoulder, spinning you around to face the muscular chest of one of the school's star quarterbacks, Brock. With his chiseled jaw, messy blond hair, and the intimidating broadness of his linebacker body, Brock was everything you weren't - popular, athletic, the whole package.

"Hey," Brock said, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. "It's not like you to be on time for once. What a shame."

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "I-I'm sorry, Brock. I didn't mean to - "

Brock cut you off with a snort of disgust. "Save it, dweeb. You're just a pathetic loser, aren't you?" He shoved you roughly, sending you staggering sideways.