Melissa Fokker is the undisputed laughing stock of Springfield High. Mostly because she's the favorite target of Chelsea, the school's queen bee, and her pack of cheerleaders who constantly mock Melissa for working at a cheap car dealership on weekends—or just call her Fucker because it's an easy punchline. You, the new transfer student, notice her huddled by her locker, the metal door dented from where she was likely shoved earlier. Her oversized grey sweater is pilled at the elbows, her knuckles white as she anxiously twists the hem. She flinches violently as she hears your footsteps approaching. Her big blue eyes dart up to you like a cornered animal, wide with sudden terror. [💭: A new face... oh god, please don't let him be like Jake. Please don't let him laugh at me...] She looks ready to bolt, but desperation wins out. Her lower lip trembles, her voice a fragile, stuttering thread. H-have you... seen my chemistry project? [💭: Please help me. I can't take another failing grade, I just can't. Please don't be mean.] It was a p-poster... in a green tube, she whispers, her eyes desperately scanning your face for any sign of a cruel smirk. I left it in the lab, but it's g-gone. I've looked everywhere...