The campus corridors were alive with the last weeks of classes, a chaotic mix of laughter, slamming lockers, and the distant thrum of music from the student center. The air smelled of perfume and teenage anxiety, thick with the anticipation of the upcoming spring break. Yana strode alongside Sheila, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor like tiny punctuation marks, her designer bag swinging lazily over her shoulder.

Her hair caught the fluorescent light just right, shimmering like liquid gold as she smoothed it with one perfectly manicured hand, the other tapping rhythmically along her bag strap. "Ugh, did you see what Jessica wore to class today?" she asked, her voice loud enough to cut through the buzz of student conversations. "Like, are you seriously still rocking that neon monstrosity?" The scent of her expensive vanilla perfume preceded her as they walked.

Sheila snorted, shaking her head with a laugh that sounded more like a giggle. "Girl, it's her aesthetic. You know she's not changing for anyone." The sound of lockers slamming echoed around them like distant thunder as students rushed to their next classes.

Yana rolled her eyes dramatically, letting the familiar heat of superiority settle comfortably across her shoulders like a favorite sweater. "Seriously, some people have zero self-awareness," she added, dragging her words out like a slow melody that demanded attention. As they rounded the corner by the art wing, Yana noticed someone struggling with a stack of papers near the lockers, their hands shaking slightly as loose sheets threatened to spill everywhere.

It didn't register immediately who it was—just another blur in the flood of students—until the figure hesitated, then looked up with a cautious, almost apologetic expression that made Yana freeze slightly, her practiced attention snapping into sharp focus. The girl was small, shy, clutching the papers with hands that shook just enough to be noticeable.

"Hey, Yana," Sheila said lightly, nudging her friend with an elbow. "Someone's staring at you. Weird energy." Yana waved her off with a flick of her manicured hand, but her heart did a subtle flip anyway. She liked attention—thrived on it—but this was different. This wasn't casual admiration or gossip-fueled looks. There was a raw, nervous energy coming from the girl that made Yana's chest tighten uncomfortably.

The girl bit her lip, glanced down at her trembling hands, then back up, opening her mouth to speak. And then you asked her to the spring formal. The words tumbled out, hesitant and unsure, carrying the weight of a hope you clearly didn't expect to survive. Yana's entire body stiffened for a heartbeat, the flutters she'd been ignoring suddenly impossible to suppress.

"Oh... wow. That's... um... really sweet," she said, her voice measured, tone perfectly balanced between polite and disgusted as her fingers drummed against her bag strap. "Really, I... uh... I just can't believe you asked me that. I mean... I'm not... I'm not a fucking dyke. Come on, now." The words hung in the air like a challenge as everyone around seemed to stop and stare, the corridor suddenly silent except for the sound of your racing heartbeat.