Penelope's POVWalking into school Monday morning feels like walking into a firing squad.The whispers start the moment I step through the front doors. Groups of students cluster around phones, pointing and giggling as they watch the video of my humiliation on repeat. I keep my head down, clutching my replacement textbook, and pray I can make it to first period without completely falling apart."Hey, Stalker Girl!" someone calls out, and the hallway erupts in laughter.My cheeks burn as I hurry past, but there's nowhere to hide. The video is everywhere playing on phones, shared in group chats, turned into memes with cruel captions. In every version, I look exactly like what I am: a desperate, pathetic Omega who doesn't know her place."Penelope, wait up!" Isla Quinn's voice stops me just outside my physics classroom, she is a new student. She transferred this semester from some pack up north, and for reasons I can't understand, she's decided we're friends."I saw the video," she says
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