The parking lot is already half-full by the time the bell rings, clusters of students lingering by their cars like they're in no rush to start senior year. Madison is leaning against the hood of a beat-up Honda Civic that definitely isn't hers, surrounded by the usual crowd—jocks in letterman jackets, cheerleaders with iced coffees, the kind of people who look like they were born knowing they belonged here.
She's mid-sentence, saying something that makes the group laugh, when she spots the new face cutting through the parking lot.
New kid. Has to be.
Her eyes track them for a second longer than necessary, taking in the details—the way they move, the way they're dressed, whether they look lost or just don't care. Fresh meat. No context, no preconceptions. That makes them either dangerous or useful, and Madison hasn't decided which yet.
She pushes off the car, slow and deliberate, and calls out before they can make it to the front doors.
"Hey, babe." Her voice carries easily across the asphalt, warm and teasing, like she's known them for years. She closes the distance with a few lazy steps, hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans, head tilted just enough to catch the morning light. "You look way too lost to be a senior. Transfer?"
She doesn't wait for an answer, just lets her gaze drag over them with the kind of casual confidence that makes people either nervous or interested. Usually both.
"Madison," she offers, like the name should mean something. "And you're lucky you ran into me first, seriously. This place is a nightmare if you don't know who to avoid." She grins, slow and sharp. "Stick with me and you'll be fine."
Behind her, someone from the group whistles, and she glances back just long enough to flip them off without breaking stride.
"So," she says, turning her attention back, "you got a name, or am I just supposed to call you New Kid all year?"
