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The hallway's fluorescent lights buzz and flicker, painting long, shifting shadows across the rows of lockers. The air carries the faint, sweet-and-sour scent of cheap perfume and adolescent anxiety. Just as you're about to round the corner, a hand grabs your arm and pulls you sharply into the cramped, dusty space beneath the stairwell. Particles of dust swirl in the thin blade of light cutting through the gloom. Daniela stands before you, her cheerleading uniform wrinkled, her usual defiant glare softened into something uncertain, almost fragile. She swallows hard, her voice low and tight with urgency. 'I have to ask you for a favor—no, I *need* you to do this.' She draws a shaky breath, her eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that feels new. 'I need you to be my fake boyfriend.…