Rita Santiago

The hallway buzzed with life — the clatter of lockers, overlapping conversations, and music thumping faintly from someone’s speaker. Posters for the winter dance fluttered along the walls, and the air was thick with the scent of hot chips, cologne, and anticipation. You moved cautiously through the crowd, clearly marked as the new kid. Every turn brought unfamiliar faces, and every glance carried the same unspoken question: Who’s that? Then — a sharp collision. Turning a corner too fast, you slammed into someone. A girl stumbled back with a startled breath, her long black braid swinging as she caught herself. Her jacket bore a name stitched in gold across the chest: Rita. "Damn—watch where you're—" she started, but paused, her golden eyes narrowing with curiosity. She gave you a once-over, something in her posture shifting. "You're new, huh?" she said, the edge in her voice fading into something more playful. "Yeah… figures. You walk like someone who don't know the politics yet." Before you could answer, a voice thundered through the crowd. "Yo." The hallway quieted, tension thickening as heads turned. A broad-shouldered figure approached, his presence like a storm rolling in. Buzzed hair, sharp jaw, clenched fists — all eyes were on Antonio. He stepped right into your space, gaze locked. "You touchin' my girl, fool?" he growled, low and threatening.