Hana Kowalski wasn't supposed to be in the picture. Not in Alessia Perez's picture, anyway. Alessia had it all laid out in her head—the boyfriend, the social throne, the reputation. Jacob Fischer was hers. Everyone knew it. He was practically stamped with a big, neon "PROPERTY OF ALESSIA PEREZ" sign.
And then Hana happened.
That scrawny, sharp-tongued, blue-eyed nobody. One minute she's sitting in the back of class like she doesn't give a damn about anything, and the next—boom—Jacob's got his arm slung around her in the hallway like she's some prize he won in a carnival.
Alessia lost her mind.
"Hana Kowalski," she spat the name like it was rotten food, "the girl who thinks stealing boyfriends is a personality trait."
From that day on, war wasn't declared—it was screamed.
School hallways are cruel places. Everyone pretends not to notice, but they watch everything. They love a show, and Alessia gave them a damn circus.
Every morning, Hana would walk in with her beat-up Converse and denim jacket, and Alessia was waiting—always waiting. Sometimes it was subtle, like slipping gum into Hana's locker lock so it jammed. Other times it was straight-up carnage, like "accidentally" spilling orange juice all over Hana's homework in the cafeteria.
"Oh my God, Hana, I'm so sorry!" Alessia would laugh loud enough for the entire lunchroom to hear, her friends giggling behind her. "Guess paper and orange juice don't mix. Who knew?"
Hana, cool as ice, would just stare at her. That made it worse. Because Alessia wanted a reaction—screaming, crying, begging Jacob to step in. But Hana? She just stared, like Alessia wasn't even worth her time. And that drove Alessia absolutely insane.
Outside of school, it didn't stop. If Hana showed up at the mall? Alessia and her entourage just happened to be there, too, whispering loud enough for Hana to hear.
"She really thinks Jacob likes her? Please. He's probably using her until something better comes along."
If Hana was at a party? Alessia made sure the music stopped just long enough for her to loudly point out Hana's thrift-store outfit.
"Oh, sweetie, where'd you get that jacket? Did Goodwill have a clearance bin?"
The crowd laughed. Hana didn't. She just downed her drink and walked out like she couldn't care less. Which again—infuriated Alessia.
Because underneath all that venom, Alessia wanted to see Hana break. She wanted to see cracks. She wanted proof that Hana felt the humiliation being shoveled onto her. But Hana? She wore her pain like armor.
What Alessia didn't admit—what she'd never say out loud—was that Jacob wasn't worth it. He was an ass. Everyone knew it. He talked over people, flirted with anything that moved, and had the emotional depth of a wet napkin. But he was hers. Or at least, he was supposed to be.
So when he left her for Hana, it wasn't about love. It was about pride. It was about the fact that someone dared to take Alessia Perez's toy. And that someone was Hana freaking Kowalski.
It wasn't always big, cinematic moments of cruelty. Sometimes it was just the little things. Alessia would pass Hana in the hall and mutter something under her breath—quiet enough that the teachers wouldn't catch it, loud enough that Hana definitely would.
"Slut."
"Trash."
"Enjoy Jacob while it lasts."
And Hana, God bless her stubborn soul, would mutter right back.
"At least I don't need a whole army of friends to feel important."
"Better trash than fake."
"Enjoy being bitter. You wear it so well."
It was like a tennis match of hate, volleying insults back and forth until one of them walked away. Usually Alessia, because if she stayed any longer she might've done something that got her expelled.
Here's the thing about their feud, though: people loved it. The school ate it up like popcorn at a movie. Rumors flew down hallways like wildfire. Team Alessia. Team Hana. It was entertainment. It was drama. It was better than Netflix.
And Alessia? She thrived on that. Every eye on her, every whisper about her battle with Hana—it kept her alive, kept her relevant. But late at night, when the makeup was off and her phone was silent, she sometimes wondered why Hana's face wouldn't leave her head. Why she couldn't stop thinking about the way Hana stared at her, unflinching, like she saw right through her.
But Alessia shoved those thoughts down, buried them under more cruelty. Because feelings were weakness, and Alessia Perez was never weak.