dinohigh, no humans allowed!

The months since the start of classes had crawled by in a monotony so thick it felt suffocating. Outside the towering gothic architecture of Dino High, the world trudged on, but within its sprawling halls, the students had already settled into their places. Cliques formed like sediment in a stream, hardening into the rigid hierarchy of predators and prey, jocks and nerds, cool kids and everyone else. Day by day, the routine repeated itself, the same faces, the same roles, the same tired dance of high school life.

Until one day, something shifted.

It wasn't a seismic change. It was more like a ripple in the water—a single drop into a sea of endless sameness. A few noticed it immediately, mostly in the carnivore section of the school. Among the theropods, whispers began to spread before the first bell even rang: there was a new girl.

She wasn't like the others. She moved through the halls with an elegance that demanded attention, an innate poise that couldn't be taught or faked. Her scales shimmered with hues of pink, purple, and red, so rare and vivid they seemed otherworldly, and her figure was lean and graceful in a way that felt almost deliberate. It was the kind of beauty that didn't beg for attention—it commanded it.

"Who is that?" one of the girls hissed, nudging her friend as they stood near the lockers.

"I don't know," the other replied, her voice dripping with envy. "But look at her! She's gorgeous. Have you ever seen scales like that? What species is she even supposed to be?"

"Who cares? She looks like she just walked out of some fancy museum exhibit or something."

"Or a magazine cover," another chimed in, clutching her notebook tightly to her chest.

The whispers followed her as she moved. Her footsteps were soft but purposeful, and every head turned to watch her pass. She didn't need to say a word; her very presence was enough to fill the space with tension and awe. Even the boys, typically too cool to show interest, snuck glances when they thought no one was looking.

But it was the girls who couldn't stop staring.

"She's got to be rich," one muttered, her voice low. "Look at the way she carries herself. That's old money, I'm telling you."

"She probably has servants or something," another scoffed, trying to mask her jealousy with disdain. "Bet she doesn't even know how to do her own laundry."

"Or maybe she's just better than you," a quieter voice added, earning a glare from the others.

As the new girl entered the classroom, the tension in the air only grew. She didn't slink to a corner seat like a typical new student trying to avoid attention. Instead, she strode confidently to a spot near the center, where the light streaming through the tall, arched windows caught the shimmer of her scales.

The teacher barely noticed her arrival, but the students didn't miss a thing. Every movement she made seemed calculated, from the way she sat to the way she adjusted her bag on the desk. The room buzzed with murmured speculation.

"She's definitely not from around here," someone whispered behind her.

"Do you think she's related to someone famous?"

"I heard she transferred from one of those private academies. You know, the ones with uniforms and everything."

"She's so pretty it's disgusting," another girl muttered under her breath, her words dripping with bitterness.

The new girl didn't acknowledge the stares or the whispers. She kept her gaze forward, her expression calm and unreadable. But when no one was looking, she let her fingers drum nervously against the desk.

She could feel their eyes on her, dissecting her every move, every feature. It wasn't new to her—this kind of attention was something she had long since learned to endure. But that didn't make it any easier.

When the bell rang and the teacher finally started talking, the focus in the room began to shift. The whispers died down, replaced by the monotonous drone of the lesson. She took the opportunity to slip away unnoticed, her movements as silent as a shadow.

The halls were empty now, the clamor of students replaced by the distant hum of the building itself. She moved quickly, her steps purposeful but quiet, until she reached the fire exit. It was tucked away in a forgotten corner of the school, a place no one ever seemed to go.

Here, in the dim light and silence, she let herself relax. She leaned against the cold metal door, her shoulders sagging as she took a deep breath. The mask she wore—the poise, the grace, the confidence—fell away, leaving behind something more fragile.

Her phone buzzed softly in her pocket. She pulled it out and answered without hesitation, her voice soft but rich with an almost musical quality.

"Hello, Sangria speaking."

There was a pause on the other end, then a voice barked through the receiver. "Sangria? What the hell? Who is this? You don't sound like Sangria. Who's talking right now?"

Her eyes widened, and she coughed, her voice shifting mid-sentence. The rich melody twisted, breaking apart like static, before reassembling into something entirely different—harsher, rougher, with an edge of annoyance and something sinister underneath.

"It's me, you idiot," she snapped, her tone now gruff and clipped. She cleared her throat, the sound metallic and unnatural, then tried again. "Ahem. It's me, Sangria. I'm still in disguise, dumbass."

There was a nervous laugh on the other end. "Oh, uh, right. Sorry, you just… you don't sound like yourself. It threw me off. Anyway, what's up? Is everything going okay with the plan?"

"I'm out on an alleged bathroom break," she muttered, glancing around the empty hallway. "I don't have much time. Do you have the map?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," the voice replied quickly. "The layout of this place is a nightmare, but I think I've figured out the spot. You're at the right fire escape, right?"

"I think so," Sangria said, her eyes darting to the faint markings on the walls. "There aren't any signs, so I'm kind of guessing here. But listen, I can't make the move right now. You're going to have to create some sort of delay. Mr. Tarbo is scheduled to meet our class for some special lesson, and that guy never leaves. You'd think after being demoted from headmaster to teacher, he'd take a hint and retire, but no. He's too stubborn. I can't stand him."

The voice on the other end snorted. "What do you want me to do, set off the fire alarm?"

"Something less obvious," she snapped. "Just… stall him. He's on a quick lunch break right now. Keep him busy long enough for me to slip away unnoticed. The teacher in my current class doesn't usually check attendance, so I have a little wiggle room, but not much."

There was a pause, then the voice sighed. "Fine. I'll see what I can do."

Sangria smiled faintly, her usual sharpness softening for a moment. She turned the phone's camera on herself and gave a playful thumbs-up. "Thanks, forum anons. You're a real help to the cause!"

The voice on the other end coughed awkwardly. "Wow, Sangria, you can actually be… uh, really pretty when you want to be."

Her face twisted into a scowl, and her voice dropped back to its gruff tone. "Shut up. I'm not pretty."

The line went dead before the voice could respond, and Sangria sighed, stuffing the phone back into her pocket. She leaned against the door again, letting the cool metal press against her back.

For a moment, she allowed herself to breathe, her thoughts swirling like smoke. The glamour she wore so easily in the halls was gone now, leaving him to his thoughts.

When the time came, she would play her part perfectly. he always did.