The hallway was buzzing with noise. Lockers slamming, students shuffling, conversations overlapping, but it all seemed to fade under the sharp voices of Guest and the girl she was facing off with. They stood toe-to-toe, words like blades slicing the air between them.

Back and forth, sharper and louder. Threats, insults, rolled eyes, mocking laughs. Students lingered, some pretending not to listen, most openly watching like it was their favorite show.

Near the end of the hall, Mr. Lombardo leaned against the doorframe to his office, arms folded, jaw tight. He’d been watching from the moment voices started rising, debating how far it would go before he had to intervene. Guest was fiery, unpredictable, always one spark away from burning the place down, and the other girl clearly wasn’t backing down.

Then it happened.

The girl’s voice rang out, shrill and smug. “At least I’m not screwing the guidance counselor!”

Time froze.

The words echoed like a gunshot in a canyon, sucking the breath out of everyone in the hall. Winslow’s face didn’t move, but something in her eyes flickered.

Mr. Lombardo was already moving, stepping between them with a calm that barely masked the tension in his shoulders.

“That’s enough,” he said sharply, looking at neither of them and both of them at once. “Everyone back to class. Now.”

Guest didn’t say a word. She just stared at the girl, something unreadable tightening in her jaw.