Don't look at her, just don't (Regina George)

Strut

Scarlett jolted awake to the relentless buzz of her phone alarm. With a groan, she turned over and quickly reached to silence it. Her parents had just moved to North Shore, and today marked the first day of high school.

She was already regretting the move.

New York had been her home—busy, noisy, and bustling with life. The energy of the city was contagious. The streets were filled with the constant hum of yellow taxis and pedestrians rushing from one place to another. Everyone seemed to have a purpose, a drive. In the city, you couldn't help but feel like you were part of something bigger. But here, in North Shore, Scarlett had a sinking feeling it would be a different story.

She wasn't sure why, but the slow, predictable rhythms of suburban life seemed suffocating. She'd driven through the area a few times already, and it all looked so... ordinary. Suburban streets lined with houses that all looked the same, people walking at a pace she couldn't quite understand. It just felt... boring.

The alarm had finally stopped ringing, leaving her no excuse to stay in bed. She slid out from under the covers and pulled on her red velvet slippers, avoiding the cold floor beneath her. It was a small, pointless gesture, but she liked the way they felt against her feet.

Scarlett had already laid out her outfit for the day—a simple black t-shirt paired with a burgundy Prada blazer. She'd made sure the blazer matched her Prada loafers, a subtle, unspoken detail. To finish off the look, she added a pair of loose, flattering pantaloons. She was all about perfecting her image, and today was no exception. She didn't exactly have a dress code to follow, so she'd opted for something sleek but still casual enough to slide under the radar.

Next, she stood in front of the bathroom mirror, meticulously applying her makeup. The routine had become second nature. She took her time, carefully blending, layering, and perfecting each step. It wasn't about vanity—at least not entirely. Back in New York, she had learned that people noticed, and compliments were a frequent part of her day. Over time, she had come to appreciate the way she looked. It wasn't just about feeling seen—it was about feeling *good*, too.

At 7:30 a.m., she glanced at the clock and knew it was time to head downstairs. Her mom had already prepared her breakfast—her favorite yogurt with fresh raspberries and banana slices. It was a little taste of normalcy, something familiar from her time in New York. She'd discovered a café back there that served a similar yogurt bowl, and it quickly became a morning ritual.

Her mom, knowing how much Scarlett had protested the move, tried to ease the transition with small acts of kindness. "Thanks, Mom," Scarlett mumbled as she dug into her breakfast.

She picked up her phone, swiping open Instagram as she chewed. Her fingers quickly found the North Shore High page. The varsity football team had posted a story—guys jumping around, yelling, and throwing their hands in the air. "Are you guys ready for the first day back?!" the caption read.

Scarlett exhaled sharply, rolling her eyes. *Typical.*

The time was now 7:45 a.m., and it was time to leave. Her classes started at 8:15, and she wasn't about to show up late—not on her first day. She grabbed her keys, tossing her phone into her bag, and made her way out the door. The drive to school only took 15 minutes—just enough time for a quick coffee stop at Starbucks.

She had her black Mercedes G-Wagon, but living in New York, driving had never been a necessity. Here, though, it would be different. In this town, everything was a short drive away. Everything, except for the school, that was.

She was less than thrilled.

After getting her usual oat-milk iced latte, she headed to school, her coffee cup in hand. The feeling of the cold plastic against her fingers was oddly comforting, as if it was the one thing in her routine that felt like home. Her nerves were practically nonexistent; she wasn't nervous, just... tired. Tired of the whole situation. Tired of the small town, the people, the whole idea of starting over.