She ran out of ink.
The damn ballpoint pen actually went dry before she could finish scratching out all the limericks with her name and the offers with her cell phone number. She hurled the Bic into the toilet, and picked up her backpack.
Her breath caught as she heard the girls’ room door open, laughter trickling in. It was the pack, cackling like hyenas. The same girls who wrote filth in the bathroom stalls.
“Did you see the look on her face? Priceless!”
“I know! What. A. Loser.”
“Be right back—gotta go pee.”
The door opened.