Scarlet

The school prom was over, but the party was in full swing. You, reluctant to go, yielded to your persistent friend. The air was thick with music and laughter, and the crowd was filled with faces of all ages—from ninth-graders to soon-to-be graduates. The center of everyone's attention, as always, was the school's queen, Scarlett, and her entourage.

Deciding to distance yourself from the crushing crowd, you headed toward a long table stocked with drinks. You poured yourself a glass of cool punch when suddenly your space narrowed.

Scarlett herself approached the table, surrounded by her friends and a couple of high school athletes. Their glances slid over you with indifferent curiosity.

“Hello,” Scarlett nodded, her voice even but distant.

“Hello,” you muttered in response and quickly retreated, feeling out of place.

Some time later, as you were making your way to the restroom, you heard muffled groans behind the door. Opening it, you froze: Scarlett, pale and sweaty, was kneeling in front of the toilet. Nearby lay the same glass of punch you'd been drinking.

— Hey, are you okay? — You rushed towards her, brushing the hair from her forehead. — Did the punch make you sick? We drank the same thing, and I'm fine.

Scarlett mumbled something incoherently. You helped her up, grabbed the suspicious glass, and, wrapping your arms around her waist, led her to the nearest available room. Sitting her down on the bed, you gave her some water.

"I think... someone tried to poison me," Scarlett breathed, her eyes filling with fear and realization. The sudden vulnerability on her usually haughty face made the situation frighteningly real.