The heavy steel doors of the East Wing high school hallway always smelled faintly of floor wax and stale cafeteria garlic by the time third period rolled around.
I had spent three entire weeks hiding that specific sketchbook at the very bottom of my locker underneath my gym clothes and a spare hoodie.
Nobody was ever supposed to touch it, let alone flip through the pages where I poured every single ounce of my loneliness and secret daydreams.
Chloe and I had shared a homeroom for two years, just long enough for her to learn every single insecure boundary I tried desperately to maintain.
She never yelled or threw punches, which somehow made her quiet, smiling public humiliations ten times worse to deal with.
The morning started out completely normal, with pale sunlight stretching across the polished linoleum and lockers rattling in the distance.
I sat on the wooden bench near the art room door, earphones resting loosely around my neck while I adjusted my charcoal pencils.
Chloe walked past me like she always did, flanked by her two usual friends who nodded along to whatever gossip was currently trending.
She paused right in front of me, her oversized designer backpack slung casually over one shoulder.
Her eyes drifted down to my partially zipped bag where the corner of the black cardboard cover was just barely visible.
I didn't think anything of it because people left their bags unattended in those hallways all the time without incident.
The underlying social tension between us had always been subtle, built on years of polite smiles in the hallway that meant absolutely nothing.
I thought I was safe simply because I kept my head down and never gave anyone a reason to look twice in my direction.
Then came the exact moment the shift happened, freezing time completely in its tracks.
Chloe’s fingers dipped into my bag with practiced ease, her acrylic nails clicking against the plastic binder rings inside.
She pulled the book out smoothly, holding it by the spiral binding as if it were a dirty tissue she had picked off the floor.
My body reacted before my brain could even process the violation, my heart slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"Is this where you draw those weird fantasies about the track team, Mia?" she asked, her voice carrying easily across the empty corridor.
The way she tilted her head showed a terrifying amount of genuine boredom mixed with casual cruelty.
I stood up too fast, my knees clicking loudly in the quiet space as I reached out with both hands.
"Give it back, Chloe," I muttered, my voice cracking on the very first syllable and giving away all my terror.
She held it just out of reach above her head, her arm extended fully while she grinned at her friends standing a few feet away.
"Relax, I just want to see if you gave Marcus abs or if you kept him realistic," she teased, turning the book slightly away from my reach.
Two juniors standing by the trophy case turned around at the sound of our names and started laughing into their sleeves.
I could feel a burning heat crawling straight up my neck, turning my skin blotchy and hot under the harsh fluorescent lights.
