Monday came heavy and gray, like a mourning shroud.
Susan walked into St. Ellis High with her shoulders hunched, hoping, praying she could just survive the day without another disaster.
But hope was a fragile thing here.
And Susan was easy prey.
---
At her locker, she found it.
A crimson envelope taped to the door, standing out like a bloodstain against the metal.
Hands trembling, she peeled it off.
Inside was a note written in looping, mocking cursive:
> "Stay away from Jackim.
This is your only warning."
Below the words, a dead black rose was pressed onto the paper.
Susan's heart pounded.
She crushed the letter into her bag and looked around — but no one seemed to notice.
Or care.
---
Classes were no better.
Whispers followed her wherever she went.
Snickers from behind textbooks.
Fake coughs that disguised her name twisted into ugly jokes.
Even some teachers gave her strange, uncomfortable looks — like she was a disease they wished they could cure by sending her away.
Susan sat at the back of each class, shrinking smaller and smaller.
The air felt thick, poisoned.
The walls seemed to close in.
---
Meanwhile, Jessica watched with satisfaction.
She had planted the seeds.
Now it was time to water them.
After lunch, she cornered Marcus — captain of the basketball team, a cocky senior known for his good looks and even worse reputation.
Marcus leaned against the vending machine, grinning lazily as Jessica approached.
"You owe me, remember?" Jessica purred, her fingers trailing down his arm.
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
"And what exactly do you want, princess?"
Jessica's smile sharpened.
"I want you to make Susan fall for you," she said sweetly.
"Make her believe it. Make it hurt."
Marcus chuckled, low and dangerous.
"For you?" He flashed his pearly teeth. "Anything."
---
That afternoon, as Susan sat alone in the library pretending to read, Marcus slid into the chair across from her.
She stiffened immediately.
He smiled, slow and charming.
"Hey, beautiful," he said smoothly, ignoring her flinch.
"I've seen you around. What's your name?"
Susan blinked at him, wary.
"...Susan."
"Pretty name for a pretty girl," Marcus said, leaning closer.
Susan could smell his expensive cologne.
She frowned, suspicious.
Why would he — Marcus, golden boy of St. Ellis — be talking to her?
But the part of her that was starved for kindness, for warmth, wanted to believe maybe, just maybe, this time it was real.
Maybe.
---
Behind a nearby bookshelf, Jessica watched the scene unfold, her smile stretching wider.
The trap was set.
And Susan was walking straight into it.
---