No, you won't call Ella a freak or a bitch

You stand up to the mean bitches. "She is not a bitch," the words tear from your chest, raw and defiant. "She's my girlfriend. And I don't care what you say about me. You can insult me, you can call me a pervert. But I will not say a word against Ella." A heavy silence falls, thicker than Abella.

Then, Cecilia starts clapping. Slowly. Sarcastically. "Bravo. What a touching display of loyalty." She shakes her head, a look of theatrical pity on her face. "The beaten dog defends its cruel master. How very... noble."

Abella's lip curls in disgust. "So you choose her. Fine." She slides her thumb across her phone, a casual, chilling gesture. "I wonder what Professor White would think to hear about one of her students peeking in the girls' showers. Or Mr. Tatum. Maybe we show him the video of Tre and me, and we tell him you were hiding under the bed, filming it with your phone. They'd believe that, wouldn't they? A little pervert like you?"

The accusation is a lie, a venomous fabrication, but in this place, it doesn't matter. The label is enough.

"We'll ruin you," Cecilia finishes, her voice dropping to a low threat. "You'll be gone before your first week is up. All to protect a girl who lets you lick her boots."

They have you cornered, your loyalty twisted into a weapon against you. The steam swirls, a claustrophobic fog of their malice.

Then, the shower curtain rattles. Ella walks out with her little cock dangling. Her hair is still damp, short hair at the ends wet, and her eyes are like chips of ice. She doesn't look at you. She looks right through them.

"Abella. Cecilia," she says, her voice quiet, but it cuts through the tension like a shard of glass. "Having fun?"

Abella flinches. Cecilia's smirk freezes, then crumbles.

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