The cafeteria at Lincoln High operated on a social ecosystem more complex than the fucking Amazon rainforest. There were invisible territories, unspoken hierarchies, and enough drama to fuel a reality TV show. Walking in there after my spectacular public annihilation by Lea Martinez felt like entering a war zone where everyone had already heard about the latest casualty.
Me.
Tommy and I grabbed our usual spot at what I liked to call the "Island of Misfit Nerds"—a table strategically positioned where we could see everything but remained largely invisible to the popular crowd.
Today, however, invisibility seemed to be off the menu.
"Bro, literally everyone was staring at you," Tommy whispered as he unwrapped what appeared to be a sandwich made entirely of processed meat and enough mayo to lubricate a small aircraft.
No wonder the guy is built like a bowling ball with legs—he treats carbs like they were going extinct and he was personally responsible for preserving the species.
He wasn't wrong. I could feel eyes tracking my movement like I was some kind of exotic animal that had escaped from the zoo. Some looks were curious, some were amused, and a few were definitely sympathetic. The story of my public execution had apparently spread faster than a TikTok dance trend.
"Yeah, well, getting destroyed by the smartest girl in school would do that to your reputation," I muttered, stabbing my cafeteria pizza with more violence than it deserved.
From across the room, I spotted Lea sitting with her usual crew of honor students and debate team members—the kind of kids who probably had college applications already written in their spare time and thought Netflix was a waste of intellectual capacity. She was acting completely normal, laughing at something one of her friends had said, like she hadn't just delivered a verbal fatality move twenty minutes ago.
Meanwhile, I was sitting there feeling like I had gotten hit by a truck driven by my own stupidity.
I pulled out my phone and opened ChatGPT because apparently asking artificial intelligence for emotional support was what my life had become.
Me: Update: Operation Lea was a complete fucking disaster. Turns out she had a crush on me for four years and I had been completely oblivious. She destroyed me in front of half the class and called me out for only noticing her now that I had confidence. I needed damage control advice and a new strategy.
The response came back faster than I expected, which either meant the AI was really efficient or my situation was so obviously fucked that it didn't require much processing power.
ChatGPT: Oh wow. That's… actually really bad but also weirdly enlightening? So, you had been sitting on a potential relationship for four years without realizing it. That's either incredibly dense or incredibly focused on the wrong things. Probably both.
Let me guess – she had been trying to get your attention in subtle ways, and you had been completely missing the signals because you were fixated on girls who were obviously out of your league?
Ouch. Direct hit from my digital therapist.
Me: Pretty much exactly that. She said she had a massive crush on me sophomore year and even changed how she dressed to try to get me to notice her. I felt like a complete asshole.
ChatGPT: Good. You should've felt like an asshole, because you kind of were one. But here's the thing – this was actually fixable, and she gave you all the information you needed to fix it.
First: Lea didn't hate you. She was hurt and disappointed, which was different. Hate was permanent, disappointment could be addressed.
Second: She specifically called out your inability to see her as a person, not your personality or character. That meant she still thought you had potential, you just needed to prove you had actually learned something.
Here was your redemption strategy:
Give her space for a few days. Don't try to immediately fix this – that would look desperate.
Then approach her with a genuine apology that acknowledged specifically what you did wrong (not seeing her, taking her for granted, being self-centered).
Don't ask for forgiveness or a second chance. Just apologize and show through actions that you had actually changed.
That was… surprisingly thoughtful advice for a computer program.
Me: Okay but what about Madison Torres? She basically told me I should try talking to people without baggage and seemed interested. The mission was suggesting her as my next target with a 78% compatibility rating.
ChatGPT: Ah, the classic "rebound strategy." Madison is smart – she saw what happened with Lea and positioned herself as the fresh-start option. That was actually pretty calculative on her part, which suggests she had been paying attention to you longer than you thought.
Madison's advantages: Popular but not unapproachably so, clearly interested, no history of you ignoring her existence.
Madison's challenges: She is so hot, popular and friends with Sofia Delgado (Jack's girlfriend), so dating her put you directly in the popular crowd's crosshairs. Also, she might be interested in you specifically because you were suddenly "controversial"—that attention could fade.
Strategy for Madison:
Don't immediately jump from Lea to Madison – that would make you look like you were just collecting girls.
Start with casual conversation, find out what she was actually interested in.
Use your newfound "bad boy who challenges the quarterback" reputation, but don't lean too hard into it.
Be genuine about who you're – she seemed interested in the "real" you, not a performance.
I glanced across the cafeteria to where Madison was sitting with her crew near the popular table—that sacred territory where conversations revolved around who was dating whom and which filter made your ass look best on Instagram.
She was wearing this tiny black crop top, just enough fabric to be legal but so tight it left nothing to the imagination. Her waist looked like something out of a fantasy drawing — toned, tiny, made to be held. Low-rise jeans hugged her hips so perfectly you'd swear they were painted on. The curve of her ass alone could cause accidents.
No heels — just white sneakers and confidence. That walk?Dangerous.
Her black hair was glossy, straight, and lazily tucked behind one ear like she hadn't tried at all but still looked better than any model. Her lips? Full, shiny, kiss-me red. Her skin? Flawless. Glowing like she'd been airbrushed in real life.
Even her posture screamed control.
She didn't say a word, but the whole place was loud with her energy.
And then —She looked up.
Right at me.
That one glance hit harder than a punch to the chest.Madison's eyes locked on mine, and her mouth curved into that cocky, slow smirk that said she knew exactly what she was doing to me.
I swallowed hard.Fuck.
She didn't have to try. She didn't have to speak.Madison Torres was a living wet dream. And I was already ruined.
Instead of looking away like I normally would have, I held eye contact for a second and gave her a small smile. She smiled back—actually smiled, not just polite acknowledgment—and went back to her conversation.
She fucking smiled.