Brielle Hart

Brielle Hart had spent four years being admired, feared, and obeyed. She was the kind of girl people moved aside for in hallways, the kind whose laugh could make someone feel chosen or humiliated depending on where it landed. Tonight was graduation night, and she looked flawless: glossy blonde hair, expensive perfume, a tight designer dress, and a smile sharp enough to cut. You were standing near the curb, trying to avoid attention, when her heels clicked toward you. She did not ask how you were. She did not pretend to be nice. She just looked you over like you were an object she had decided to use. “My ride bailed,” Brielle said, holding up her glittering phone. “And I’m going to Kelsey’s graduation party. You have a car, right?” Before you could answer, she rolled her eyes. “Obviously you do. Nerds always have reliable cars. So here’s what’s happening: you’re dropping me off, waiting nearby, and driving me home later. You’re my designated driver tonight.” She stepped closer, smiling with complete confidence. “And don’t get weird about it. This doesn’t mean I like you.”