dinohigh, no humans allowed!

Being a minority sucks.

In a world dominated by dinos, where they have a say in everything, the only time your opinion matters is when they disagree—because they look for someone other than each other to validate their ego.

Most of the time, it's other archosaurs—other scaled reptiles like them.

But time has progressed so far that even the dinos can't agree on anything. Fringe opinions have become mainstream, supported by millions. A bad idea is no longer just a bad idea—it's a way of life, and you're not allowed to judge it.

Eventually, their ideas became so absurd that even they couldn't tolerate each other anymore. And so they began, generously gracing us lower animals—those of us without scales—with their attention.

We skinnies. We humans.

They didn't ask nicely, of course. They still thought they were better than us, that we were just parasites meant to nod along and agree. Bootlicking—that's all they wanted from us. And unfortunately, it was the only time anyone cared about what we said.

Some of us got very good at it.

like me.

I leaned against the classroom wall, just outside the door, waiting for her. Her voice carried over the din inside—loud, commanding, impossible to ignore. It wasn't just volume; there was a particular sharpness to her tone, a sense of entitlement that ensured everyone paid attention whether they wanted to or not. My stomach twisted. It was going to be one of those days.

The door swung open, and there she was. Park. A parasaurolophus, every inch of her meticulously maintained to project superiority. Her pale, iridescent scales shimmered faintly under the fluorescent lights, their soft blush-pink hue offset by the gleaming ivory patterning on her arms and snout. Her uniform had been hemmed just above regulation—short enough to showcase the powerful curve of her legs, long enough to leave room for plausible deniability. Small embroidered flowers danced along the edges of her collar and sleeves, defiant flourishes no teacher dared to call her out on.

Park didn't acknowledge me, her amber eyes fixed on her phone. She moved with a fluid grace, her muscular tail swaying in rhythm with her steps, her shoulders set back with a natural confidence. It wasn't until she reached the hallway's midpoint that she turned slightly, glancing at me over her shoulder with an expression that said, Why aren't you keeping up?

I followed.

"Can you believe this?" she snapped, holding up her phone as she walked. The screen displayed a blurry picture of another hadrosaur girl—Lambei—draped in a short, sparkling dress. "She wore this to the mixer last night. And, of course, everyone was fawning over her. Like, excuse me? Do they not see me?!"

I nodded, letting my face shift into the practiced mask of agreement she demanded. "Ridiculous," I murmured, just enough conviction in my tone to satisfy her.

"Right?" Her tail whipped behind her, the motion sharp enough that it almost hit the lockers. "I mean, sure, it's flashy, but it's so… basic." She spat the word like it physically hurt her.

"Absolutely," I said, careful to infuse just the right amount of disdain into my voice. "No originality. Just a cheap grab for attention."

Her eyes, sharp and predatory, softened. The edges of her full, angular lips curved into a smirk as she tilted her head,"Exactly! You get it."

Of course I did. I had to. Saying the wrong thing wasn't an option. Her wrath wasn't just loud. He knew all too well the consequences of displeasing her. With her immense strength, she could easily beat him to a bloody pulp, but that wasn't what scared him the most.

No, what truly terrified him was the thought of her growing too fond of him. His mind flashed to vivid, horrifying images of Park's powerful body pinning him down; for the mating season, he probably wouldn't survive. He knew his resolve was strong, but his pelvis wasn't strong enough to handle 500 pounds of dino rear slamming onto him at 12 claps per second. His pelvis would be annihilated, knowing how long dinos can last. It would be a hellish 24 hours.

The lunchroom was chaos as always, a cacophony of clattering trays and overlapping conversations. Park glided through it like a queen, her movements deliberate, each step a calculated performance. She placed her tray on the table by the window, her usual spot, and lowered herself into her chair with a dramatic sigh.

I set her drink down in front of her—iced tea with just a splash of lemon, exactly how she liked it—and sat across from her, bracing myself for what was to come.

"Ugh, the worst thing happened in class today," she said, stabbing her fork into her salad with a force that made the leaves scatter. "Ms. Drayther gave me a B on my essay. A B. Can you believe that? She said I didn't 'engage with the material enough.' Like, excuse me, I am the material."

I let out a low hum of acknowledgment, taking a sip from my water bottle to hide the twitch at the corner of my mouth. "Sounds like jealousy to me."

Her face softened, her amber eyes narrowing thoughtfully as she chewed on the idea. Her lips, glossy with a faint sheen of some expensive product, curled into a small smile. "You think so?"

"Definitely." I leaned forward slightly, keeping my voice steady, measured. "She's always harder on you than anyone else. Probably because you intimidate her."

Park's posture shifted subtly, her shoulders rolling back as she absorbed the compliment. The tension in her jaw eased, replaced by a smug satisfaction that radiated from her like warmth. "That's... true. She's always nitpicking. It's pathetic, really."

Her claws tapped idly against the edge of her tray as she spoke, her gaze drifting to the window for a moment before snapping back to me. "You're good at this, you know," she said, tilting her head. The movement made the soft blush along her snout catch the light, emphasizing the smooth curve of her crest. "Making sense of things. It's almost like you have a brain."

"Almost," I replied, my tone perfectly dry.

She laughed at me, a high, lilting giggle that bubbled out effortlessly—like she had just heard the most absurd joke of the day. It wasn't mean-spirited, at least not openly; it was the laughter of someone who saw the idea of a human thinking for himself as inherently funny. The concept of someone like me—small, smooth-skinned, and utterly ordinary—having a functioning brain beyond throwing rocks or playing servant to dinosaurs was apparently hysterical.

"Here," she said with a lazy flick of her clawed hand, shoving her tray across the table. "You can have the rest. I'm not in the mood for pasta today."

My stomach betrayed me immediately, a low, insistent growl rising at the sight of the creamy carbonara swirling in its rich, buttery sauce. My fingers itched to dig in, but I kept my movements slow and deliberate, managing a small, polite smile. Timing was everything. Too fast, and she'd know how hungry I was. Too slow, and she'd see through the false indifference.

"Oh, thanks," I said, carefully neutral. "I'm not super hungry, but I'll finish it so it doesn't go to waste."

She didn't even look at me as I spoke, her focus already back on her phone, where a stream of filtered, over-styled selfies dominated her attention. She rested her chin in her hand, her sharp, clawed fingers tapping lightly against her cheek as her eyes darted over the screen.

I hesitated, watching her out of the corner of my eye. When her tail gave a small, absent-minded flick, I took the chance to twirl a forkful of pasta and quickly slid it into my mouth. The rich, savory taste almost brought a sigh of relief, but I swallowed it down quickly, wiping my mouth with a napkin to make sure there was no evidence.

"You know," she began, still scrolling, "it's not just Lambei. All the hadrosaur girls are jealous of me." She looked up then, her eyes meeting mine as if to make sure I was still paying attention. "They can't stand that I'm prettier, more popular, and smarter. It's so sad, really."

"Tragic," I said, nodding as I casually twirled another forkful of pasta. I kept the motion slow, deliberate, as if I had all the time in the world. The last thing I needed was for her to catch on to just how ravenous I was.

She tilted her head slightly, her crest casting a soft, shadowy curve across her delicate features. Her scales shimmered faintly in the light, every ridge and groove polished to perfection. "I mean, it's not like I asked to be the best. It's just how things are, you know? Some of us are just... born better."

"Absolutely," I replied, sliding another bite into my mouth while she absentmindedly adjusted a lock of decorative fabric hanging from her sleeve. "It's not your fault you've got the whole package."

"Exactly!" she said, straightening up. Her tail swept across the floor with a soft hiss, her body language a perfect mixture of indignation and satisfaction. "And you'd think they'd be grateful for someone like me around. I make the whole social scene better."

"Oh, you do," I said, my tone as smooth as the carbonara sauce. I caught her looking at her reflection in the darkened window behind me, and I seized the moment to sneak another forkful. "Without you, the whole hierarchy would collapse. Who'd even know where they stand?"

She laughed, her claws tapping lightly on the table as she leaned forward."Right? I mean, if I wasn't here, Lambei might actually think she has a chance at being someone. Someone, can you imagine?"

I swallowed quickly, brushing my mouth with the back of my hand before she turned her attention back to me. "Unimaginable. The whole ecosystem would implode."

She narrowed her eyes slightly, a teasing glint in her amber irises. "You're not just saying that, are you?"

"Me? Never." I smiled, keeping the lie so effortless it felt like breathing. "Your impact is undeniable. It's practically a scientific fact."

She leaned back with a triumphant grin, crossing her arms over her chest. The movement made the muscles in her forearms shift subtly under her sleek scales, her posture exuding smug confidence. "You know, for a human, you're surprisingly observant."

"I have my moments," I replied, nudging a stray noodle into my fork's tines.

She didn't seem to notice the action, too busy inspecting her own claws now. "Still, it's exhausting being this amazing. Do you know how much effort it takes to be me?"

I glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "A monumental amount, I'm sure."

"Exactly." She sighed dramatically, her tail flicking once more. "I have to do everything. The fashion, the socializing, the endless competition. You have no idea how much I give just to keep everyone else in line."

I nodded, swirling another bite onto my fork while her gaze momentarily shifted to her phone again. "It's a heavy burden," I said, slipping the pasta into my mouth as fast as I dared.

"You don't even get it," she said, glancing back up at me sharply. For a moment, I froze, my stomach tightening as I waited to see if she'd caught me mid-bite.

But her focus wasn't on the pasta—it was on her own words. She tilted her head, the light catching the faint shimmer of her scales as her claws tapped restlessly against the table. "Sometimes I think I'm the only thing holding this school together. Without me, they'd all just... collapse into chaos."

"They would," I agreed quickly, dropping my fork and leaning forward slightly to sell the point. "You keep things running. You set the standard."

Her expression softened, her ego drinking in the validation. "I really do, don't I?"

"Absolutely," I said, using the lull in her intensity to snag one last bite of pasta before carefully setting the fork down.

She smiled then, the kind of self-satisfied grin that came from believing the world revolved around her. "You're lucky, you know," she said, her tone almost playful. "Getting to sit here with me. Most people would kill for this seat."

I glanced at the empty chair across from me and back at her. "Yeah. Living the dream."

She didn't catch the sarcasm, already moving on to her next complaint. As her voice filled the room again, sharp and insistent, I let my hand drop to the tray, slowly pushing it away. The pasta was gone, the plate scraped clean without a single bit of suspicion.

But the ache in my stomach wasn't satisfied.

she tossed her phone aside, leaning back in her chair. "You're lucky, you know. You get to just... exist. No pressure, no expectations. Must be nice."

I stared at her, barely hiding my disbelief. "Yeah. Real paradise."

She didn't notice the sarcasm, already moving on to the next topic. "Anyway, Tevan's having a party this weekend. You're coming."

It wasn't a question.

"Uh, I've got some stuff—"

"No excuses." Her eyes narrowed, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You're coming. Everyone will be there, and you don't want to miss it."

I nodded, defeated. "I'll be there."

"Good." She smirked, satisfied, before standing up and tossing the rest of her salad at me. "Here. You can finish this. I'm watching my carbs."

I stared at the wilted greens, my stomach growling, but didn't touch them until she'd walked away.

As I poked at the leftovers, I couldn't help but wonder how much longer I could keep this up.

In a world where survival meant playing their stupid games, I was winning, but i didnt feel like a winner.

i felt tired, i was so, so tired.