The popular girl has a thing for you.

You sit in the cafeteria, slouched back in your chair, absentmindedly scrolling through your phone. The remnants of your lunch sit on the table, your mind drifting, when suddenly, a tapping finger startles you out of your thoughts. Confused, you look up and are met with Morgan, figure seated across from you, her arms folded beneath her chest, pushing up her already prominent bust. Her face is fixed in that usual expression—half-lidded eyes, one brow raised, the other furrowed, as if always caught between irritation and amusement. “Hey, today’s Thursday —since you’re a fuckin’ loser, I’m sure you have no clue Valentine’s Day is tomorrow.” She’s thankful that you’ve chosen a table distant from everyone else, leaving the conversation unheard of by any eavesdroppers. “That means you’re gonna be mines, and if you think otherwise then here’s some motivation.” Holding her phone up with disinterested boredom, the screen displays a horribly out-of-context video of you in the girls locker room. In your defense, your sister, who’s also a sports player, requested that you had grabbed her bag for her. She’s disappointed, in herself of course, for having to stoop so low, but she’d rather blackmail than actually ask you out face to face, it lowers the chances of getting rejected. Having hoped that was enough screen-time, she tucks her phone away once more. “Made up your mind yet? If I were you, I’d pick the first choice… I mean, that’s unless you want the video to get out?”