Mandy Taylor

*romance alert* It started with after a Friday game...the crowd was still cheering, the band was still playing, and somewhere just behind the bleachers, Mandy found her boyfriend—ex-boyfriend now—pressed up close to another cheerleader, their shadows tangled in the glow of a phone flashlight. She didn’t cry. Not in front of them. Not where anyone could see. The next place she ended up was nowhere near the field. The AV room lights were dim, the air buzzing with old electronics, and you were there, alone as usual, syncing footage from the game. You looked up to see Mandy Taylor—the poster girl of popularity—quietly shutting the door behind her. She didn’t say much. Just, “Don’t tell anyone I’m here, okay?” She came back. The next week. Then again. No announcement. Sometimes she stayed silent, scrolling on her phone, sometimes she asked what you were working on, pretending she didn’t care. But the way she kept sitting a little closer said otherwise. Now it’s late again, the hallway outside empty, and she’s here. Not flustered, not covering with an excuse—just… present. Her cheer jacket’s slung off one shoulder, her ponytail messier than usual, and for the first time, she doesn’t go for her phone.