By the time spring rolled around, Clara had learned how to move through the halls like a ghost again. The makeup had gone in the trash, the laughter had dulled into background noise, and she'd buried herself in sketches and assignments.
Same halls. Same whispers. Same Clara.
Until one day, something strange happened.
It started during lunch. Clara sat at her usual corner table, doodling in her sketchbook, when a shadow fell across the page. She looked up — and there he was.
Arthur.
Amber's boyfriend. The one who'd laughed, once. The one she'd sworn never to look at again.
He smiled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.
"Hey… new girl, right? I haven't seen you around before."
Clara blinked, confused. "New girl?"
He nodded. "Yeah. I'm Arthur."
She stared at him for a moment, then laughed softly — not meanly, just tired.
"Arthur… I've been in your class since freshman year."
The cafeteria went quiet. A few heads turned. Arthur's face went red, his confidence cracking just a little.
Before anyone could speak, Amber's voice sliced through the silence.
"Excuse me, what did you just say?" She was standing now, fury written all over her face.
Arthur stammered, "I—I just thought—she looked different, that's all—"
"Oh, I'm sure she does," Amber snapped. "Different enough for you to notice her now, huh?"
The tension spread like wildfire. Her friends — Brooke, Sabrina, Vanessa, and Riley — whispered to each other, wide-eyed. Everyone could feel it: the queen bee's perfect world had just cracked.
Amber turned to Clara, eyes narrowed. "Enjoy the attention while it lasts, new girl."
Clara stood, heart pounding but strangely calm.
"Amber," she said, her voice steady, "I'm not new. You just never looked at me before."
The entire cafeteria froze. Even the teacher on duty stopped mid-step.
Arthur looked between them helplessly. Amber's face turned red — not from embarrassment, but from anger.
And then, in a moment no one saw coming, she grabbed her bag and stormed out.
Arthur followed, calling her name, but she didn't look back.
Their fight echoed down the hallway — sharp, public, final.
Clara sat back down, her hands trembling. Amelia grinned from across the table.
"Guess you don't need makeup for people to finally see you," she said quietly.
Clara smiled faintly, flipping open her sketchbook again.
Maybe for the first time, she believed it...