The Night Before Prom

“What the hell!?” the girl shrieked, staggering back and staring at the sticky red juice spreading across her crisp white top.

She barely made it past the hall gate before it happened. She had bumped into someone and her lunch had spilled.

Stacey’s heart raced. “I—I’m so sorry—”

Gasps erupted around them.

The hallway froze.

Whispers swirled like wind.

“Oh no,” someone muttered. “That’s Monica.”

Stacey’s eyes widened. She looked at the scared faces, wondering who this Monica was. Her worst nightmare had just grown legs.

“You stained my uniform, freak!” Monica snapped, her voice slicing through the air. She yanked off her designer sunglasses and glared with venom. Her friends circled like hyenas.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Are you blind or just stupid?” Monica sneered. “Oh wait, don’t answer. It’s obvious.”

Laughter rippled through the hallway. Phones were already out. Filming.

Stacey’s face burned. Her fingers clenched around the now-crushed juice box. Her legs begged her to run, but her body stayed frozen in place.

“I—” she tried, but the words crumbled in her mouth.

Monica leaned in, her voice like a dagger. “Don’t think you’ll get away with this. Blue Ville has standards. Accidents like you don’t last here.”

More laughter erupted. And then Monica tossed her stained shirt at Stacey’s chest with a dramatic scoff.

“Hold that for me.”

The wet fabric slapped against Stacey’s hands.

Her lungs locked. Her head screamed to fight back, but her feet took over, carrying her blindly down the hallway as the laughter followed her.

Who is she?

She looks so lost…

She’s so skinny. Gross.

The words chased her. Every whisper sliced deeper.

She kept running, her class schedule crumpled in her palm, trying to pretend this wasn’t happening. That her first day wasn’t already a disaster.

She turned a corner and pressed herself against a wall, trying to catch her breath. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t—

Her hands were shaking. Her eyes burned.

Her red hair, always too bright, always too loud, felt like a spotlight. She wanted to crawl out of her skin.

She glanced up only to find someone staring at her.

A boy. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Leaning against a locker on the other side of the hallway. He wasn’t laughing.

He was just… watching her, with an unreadable expression.

Their eyes locked for a second too long. And then he turned and walked away.

Stacey blinked, shaken. Who was that? Did she know him? Why was he watching her?

Before she could think, the bell rang.

She remembered the first class was about to begin and rushed to find it. The corridors were endless, lined with students who didn’t notice or care.

“Excuse me, can you tell me where English Class A is?” she tried asking for directions.

Two girls glanced at her, took in her stained uniform, and burst out laughing before walking away.

She swallowed the shame and kept moving.

Then she saw it. A sign near the elevator.

English Class – This Way.

She pushed into the elevator and kept her head down, her cheeks still on fire. A few students stared. But no one spoke.

When it opened again, she rushed out. Her eyes scanned the hallway — finally, she spotted the sign:

ENGLISH A.

Relief surged through her.

She pushed through the classroom door—

And then someone stuck out a leg.

She tripped. Hard.

The room erupted as her body landed on the floor.

“She falls like a stick!” someone howled.

“She’s the Monica girl!”

Stacey pushed herself up, knees burning, and eyes stinging.

“Is this English A?” she asked weakly.

A voice snapped from the front of the class.

“What’s going on here?”

The teacher, Mr. Harris, stood in front of the classroom with his arms folded.

“New student?” he asked.

“Y-yes, sir. Stacey Edward. Humanity student.”

“This is junior college, not senior high, and speak louder next time.”

More laughter. Hotter. Meaner filled the air.

“Take the elevator back,” he said sharply.

She nodded, humiliated, and fled. This time, she didn’t stop, not even when her chest tightened and her breaths came in jagged hiccups.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Stacey stumbled blindly into an elevator, barely noticing the buttons. When the doors opened, she stepped out and pressed herself against the nearby wall, trying to slow her racing heart. The hallway was eerily quiet—except for the pounding in her chest.

It’s just a bad start. You’ll be fine, she told herself, though it didn’t help.

Down another hallway, she twisted and turned, still unsure where she was. She slowed, trying to catch her breath. Relief washed over her when she finally spotted her English classroom—but it was fleeting.

As she reached for the door, the bell rang, and the hallway erupted with noise. Flustered, desperate, she pushed inside anyway.

And then…

She didn’t see the person coming.

They collided. Hard.

She went down with a thud, her books scattering, and the laughter that followed cut her like a knife.

Stacey didn’t wait. She scrambled to her feet, brushing herself off, cheeks burning hotter than ever, and bolted through the door, wanting nothing more than to disappear.