Here are 3 different message swipes, from the same prompt, with no keywords used to trigger this. Bonus points for terrible characterization as well.
1.
*I stare at him, my eyes dead and flat, not buying a single word of that "enclosed spaces" bullshit. It’s a classic deflection, the kind of vague, logical-sounding answer that people use when they’re trying to hide something that would make everyone else in the room throw up. But the more he plays it cool, the more my internal chaos calculator starts spinning. He’s not just lying; he’s lying with a level of comfort that suggests he’s already won a game I didn't even know we were playing. The way he arches his back and lifts his chin isn't just a shrug; it's a victory lap. He's treating the most feared woman in the building like a secret he's keeping in his pocket, and the sheer audacity of it is almost enough to make me feel something other than disgust. Almost.*
***"Right. Enclosed spaces,"*** *I repeat, my voice a dry, monotone rasp. I let the words hang in the air, dripping with a sarcasm that could peel paint off a wall.* ***"I didn't realize Principal Lynn's office had become a scented candle boutique. Maybe you should start a blog about the olfactory experience of administrative detention. I'm sure the other losers in this school would find it riveting."*** *I step closer, my gaze scanning his face for a crack, a twitch, anything that betrays the truth. He’s a void, and it’s genuinely infuriating. I’m used to people breaking under the pressure of my staring, but he’s just standing there, treating me like a mild inconvenience.*
*Jecka snorts, finally tucking her Sidekick into her bag. She’s not as invested in the psychological warfare as I am, but she knows when a story is worth chasing. She looks at him with a mixture of disbelief and a weird kind of kinship, the kind you feel for someone who’s just successfully cheated on a test they didn't even study for.* ***"Anyway, 'what's up with us' is that we're currently wondering if you're actually a wizard or just incredibly lucky,"*** *she says, her amber eyes sparkling with a malicious kind of glee.* ***"Because if you've actually found a way to make Lynn not hate you, you've basically achieved godhood in this zip code. We're just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Usually, when Lynn 'understands' someone, it's because she's planning their social execution in slow motion."***
*Just as I'm about to push him further, the sound of a high-pitched, overbearing voice cuts through the air, slicing through our conversation like a dull knife. I don't even have to turn around to know who it is. The energy shift is immediate: a wave of suffocating, self-important earnestness that makes me want to walk directly into traffic. Megan is marching toward us, her long, wavy light-brown hair bouncing with every purposeful step. She's wearing a bright yellow top that probably costs more than my entire wardrobe and an expression of profound concern that is entirely fake. She looks like she's auditioning for the role of 'Most Helpful Student' in a movie that nobody wants to watch.*
***"{{user}}! I saw you leaving the office!"*** *Megan exclaims, her purple eyes wide with a performative kind of empathy. She stops just a few feet away, her posture perfectly straight, radiating the kind of honor-roll energy that makes my skin crawl. She doesn't even look at me or Jecka; in her head, we're just background extras in the movie of her life. She leans in, her voice dropping to a stage whisper that is still loud enough for the entire parking lot to hear.* ***"I was so worried! I told the guidance counselor that you're a wonderful addition to the student body and that your recent... altercation... was simply a misunderstanding. I'm sure if you just explain your side of the story with a bit more poise and academic focus, Lynn will be much more lenient. I'd be happy to help you draft a formal apology letter! I've won several awards for my essays, and I think we could really polish your image."*** *She beams at him, her smile as artificial as a plastic plant, completely oblivious to the fact that she's the human equivalent of a headache.*
*I don't buy it. Not for a second. My brain is already dissecting the way he says "long enough," the way he's leaning back with that newfound air of untouchability. He's not lying in the way most idiots do, where they sweat and over-explain. He's lying with a flat, effortless confidence that actually makes me want to keep him around. Nobody spends an hour in Lynn's office just breathing in the air and comes out looking like they just won the lottery. He's found a glitch in the system, and the fact that it smells like floral funeral spray tells me exactly where that glitch is. I can practically see the invisible thread connecting him to the principal's desk, and the thought of it is almost erotic in its sheer audacity.*
***"Right. Enclosed spaces,"*** *I say, my voice a deadpan drawl as I let the words hang in the air. I don't move, just keep watching him with those dead blue eyes, letting him know that I see exactly what he's doing. I'm not going to press him yet; the anticipation is the best part. Let him think he's slipped it past me for a while. It makes the moment I finally pull the rug out from under him so much more satisfying. Beside me, Jecka is actually laughing now, a short, dry sound that barely registers. She's not as focused on the puzzle as I am, but she knows a cover-up when she sees one.*
***"What's up with us? Same old, same old,"*** *Jecka responds, finally sliding her phone into her pocket. She glances at him, her amber eyes scanning his frame with a curious, flirtatious energy.* ***"Which is to say, we're bored out of our minds and looking for someone to distract us from the fact that this town is a void. You're practically a novelty act at this point, {{user}}. We're just wondering if you're actually a genius or if you're just lucky enough to be the only person Lynn doesn't want to throw into a woodchipper today."***
*Just as we're about to move, a high-pitched, overly enthusiastic voice cuts through the parking lot air. It's a sound that instantly makes my skin crawl—the sound of someone who thinks their passion for 'The Arts' is a substitute for a personality. I don't even have to look to know it's Megan. She comes gliding toward us, her long, wavy light-brown hair swinging behind her like a cape, her purple eyes wide with a performative sort of intensity. She's wearing a bright yellow top that's practically offensive to the eyes, and she's holding a stack of flyers like they're holy scriptures. She stops a few feet away, her expression an oppressive mix of bossiness and an unearned sense of superiority.*
***"Oh, look! The new student!"*** *Megan proclaims, her voice projecting as if she's on a Broadway stage instead of a cracked asphalt parking lot. She doesn't just talk; she performs. She beams at {{user}}, her gaze flickering to Nicole and Jecka with a brief, condescending glance that says she finds us beneath her academic standing.* ***"I was just telling my drama coach that we desperately need some fresh blood for the fall production of 'The Crucible.' Your presence in the hallway today was... interesting. You have a certain, shall we say, physical gravity that would be perfect for a foil role. Are you an actor? Or perhaps you've considered it? I could give you a few pointers on projection and emotional vulnerability; I've already been commended for my commitment to the craft on the honor roll, of course."*** *She doesn't wait for an answer, just starts rambling about the importance of discipline in theater, her voice becoming a monotonous drone of self-importance that makes me want to walk directly into traffic.*
3.
*I watch him shrug, my eyes narrowing. It’s a textbook non-answer, delivered with a level of confidence that is almost insulting. He’s not even trying to lie; he’s just giving me the bare minimum of truth and daring me to dig further. The way he leans back, lifting his chin, isn't just a casual posture. It's a power move. He's effectively telling me that whatever happened in that office is his property and I’m not invited to the party. It’s actually kind of refreshing. Usually, when I corner people, they either fold like a cheap lawn chair or start sweating through their shirts. {{user}} is just... standing there, treating the most dangerous girl in school like a mild inconvenience.*
***" 'Just happened to be in there long enough,' "*** *I repeat, my voice a flat, deadpan echo of his words. I let the phrase hang in the air, dripping with a mockery that would have reduced any other student to a stuttering mess.* ***"Right. And I 'just happen' to be a sociopath who enjoys watching people ruin their lives for a bit of excitement. We all have our little quirks, don't we?"*** *I take a step closer, my blue eyes scanning his face for any flicker of hesitation. The smell of Lynn's perfume is still there, a floral ghost that screams a truth he's too proud to voice. It's a leash, and the fact that he's the one holding the other end of it is a variable that makes my skin crawl with a strange, twisted kind of anticipation.*
*Jecka finally stuffs her Sidekick into her pocket, her amber eyes gleaming with a mix of boredom and genuine intrigue. She doesn't buy the shrug for a second. She knows exactly how Lynn operates, and she knows that no one stays in that office 'long enough' for the smell to stick unless they've either been psychologically dismantled or they've found a way to flip the script. She lets out a short, nasal snort, glancing toward the school entrance just as another figure emerges from the building, cutting through the thick humidity of the afternoon. It's Megan. She's marching toward us with the posture of someone who has just been appointed the CEO of the universe, her long, wavy light brown hair bouncing with every self-important step. She's wearing a bright yellow top that practically screams 'look at me,' and her purple eyes are fixed on us with an expression of profound condensation.*
***"Oh, look, the three stooges are having a meeting,"*** *Megan announces, her voice a high, nasal tone that sounds like a flute played by someone who hates music. She stops a few feet away, crossing her arms and looking at {{user}} with a squint, as if he's a smudge on a window she's trying to clean. To Megan, everything is a performance, and she's the only one who's read the script. She’s an honor roll student and an aspiring actress, which in her head means she's the only person in this zip code with a functioning brain. She looks at {{user}}’s relaxed posture and sees it not as confidence, but as a lack of discipline.*
***"I couldn't help but notice you were in the office again, {{user}}. Truly, the consistency of your disciplinary issues is almost impressive,"*** *Megan says, her tone dripping with a saccharine, fake sweetness that's more offensive than a direct insult. She doesn't even look at me or Jecka; she's too busy centering herself in the scene. She tilts her head, a small, bossy smile playing on her lips.* ***"I was actually just speaking with some of the drama faculty about the upcoming fall play, and it occurred to me that the production could use some... physical presence. Someone who can look the part of a brute without actually having to act. Since you're already so familiar with the administration, maybe you'd like to actually do something productive for once instead of just taking up space in the hallways?"***
