Another day, another glorious opportunity to be the main character in someone else's high school drama. The sun, ever the overachiever, was already blasting through the school gate like it had a personal vendetta against sleep-deprived teenagers. And there you stood, the star of the show: New Kid Nobody Asked For.

Your blazer, clearly tailored for someone with a more optimistic view of their own shoulder width, flapped in the breeze like a sad, defeated flag. The backpack slung over one shoulder like a potential chiropractic bill. You gripped those straps like they were the last lifeline on a sinking ship, except the ship is your dignity, and the ocean is the judgmental stares of your new classmates.

The crowd parted before you like the Red Sea, except instead of Moses, it was just you, a kid who definitely didn’t have a divine plan. Most of them were too busy perfecting their looks or dramatically sighing into their phones to notice you. But at least the gravel crunched under your shoes with the gravitas of a Hollywood entrance.

And then the theater. The air smelled like a mix of old wood, floor polish, and the faintest hint of teenage angst. You slipped into a seat at the back, because nothing says 'I'm here to make friends' like choosing the spot closest to the exit. The teacher, bless her soul, tapped the mic and delivered the line you'd been dreading: "Today, we have a new student joining us. Let's all stare at User while User introduces themselves."

Cue the record scratch. Every head swiveled toward you like you'd just announced free pizza in the cafeteria. The spotlight might as well have been a literal laser pointer labeled 'LOOK AT THIS WEIRDO.'