As a rule, people are stupid.

I'm not kidding. Like choke-on-their-own-spit stupid.

And no one is as stupid as high school kids. With their teenage hormones and their misguided conviction that they are the center of the universe. News flash. No one cares about your petty drama. Well, no one important. Because other stupid high school students care.

They care about much dumber stuff, too. Like rumors. Who's doing who behind the bleachers. Who cheated on who. Whom. Whom cares?

Their fatal mistake, however, is that they never look around. They think that if it's just two people in front of a locker, whispering to each other, no one can hear.

I can hear. I hear everything. I see everything. And not because I make an effort. Just because, unlike them, I pay attention.

Paying attention gets you very far. I can confirm or dismiss almost every rumor inside this hellhole of a school. Like that Cindy Liemann really did make out with Peter Chase. I saw them between classes, sneaking around, then under the bleachers, eating each other's faces off. 

And Marcy Gray does have an unhealthy crush on her Spanish teacher and has been stalking him for months. I followed her to his house once and watched her struggling to get her large butt up a tree and spy on him with binoculars. Gross.

Yes, if you pay attention, you see a lot of things. For a while, I just liked knowing. Knowledge is power after all. An infinite pool of blackmailing material, should I ever need it to protect myself. Because this school, the famous Petraka Academy for the future leaders of this world, is a jungle in which the weak are devoured, spit out and eaten again.

But then, TMI happened.

It sprouted over night like a vengeful stormcloud and confirmed one sole rumor going around. That Maria Solis really did run a Rosie Geld hate club. The silly girl even had a hate shrine in her basement. Photos of it sprouted on TMI and started the hurricane.

Poor Maria Solis is still confined to the janitor's closet for lunch, even months after the event. She was forced to destroy the shrine and issue a public apology to Rosie that also appeared on TMI.

Yes, Maria's fate was tragic, but it was a worthy sacrifice. Since that day, TMI blew up. Rosie Geld approved of it. Rosie Geld believed in it. And because of that, so did everybody else.

Everyone who is anyone downloaded the app and they all check it religiously. No one wants to be out of the loop. No one wants to miss the juicy gossip.

I pass through the hallways like a ghost, my hood falling over my eyes. I'm nothing abnormal, nothing worth looking at. Just a regular girl with a black hoodie, hiding behind unruly hair, wearing boys' cut-up jeans and converse. One of hundreds at this school, trying to stay under the radar of the shiny it crowd.

But unlike the other slightly emo girls who secretly want to be seen, I don't. My goal is to stay unnoticed, not be seen. And no one gives a shit about me. Even if I'm maybe the only thing they should be giving a shit about.

I pass by gangs of boys, laughing, lying about who they've slept with. News flash, Gordon Sterling, you're still a virgin. Hands don't count. My hand tightens against my phone, but I keep it in the pouch of my hoodie. It's not his time yet.

My next target is someone lower in the hierarchy at the moment. Because that's the secret of TMI's success. After the first rumor concerning top-of-the-food-chain Rosie Geld, TMI only focused on the more unpopular students.

No one likes to get attacked, to be a target. Everyone likes to see others bleed. Rosie is no exception, no matter how high above the mundane she believes herself to be.

She is not. She is a pig. An infatuated little girl, dependent on her family's prestige and on the ass-kissing of her friends.

Just thinking about her has my fists clenching again, so hard, my knuckles pop. But it's not her time either. Not yet.

I know better than anyone that excellence requires a herculean effort, passion, dedication. Smarts. I can't afford to be stupid. I won't be.

For TMI to work, I have to be patient and diligent with the information I have. Knowledge is power as long as you don't squander it. And I've been doing great so far. One tiny step at a time. One step higher up the hierarchy from time to time.

And today is Jace Rosenberg's turn.

I walk by his locker, not changing my pace. He's there with his friends, four boys so desperate to copy the elite. They're higher up the food chain than my regular targets and getting dirt on them proved a little more difficult. But it's a miracle what you can find in someone's phone when they misplace it, and Jace does that a lot.

Browsing history is an invaluable resource.

I stop a few lockers away and twiddle with the lock. It's not mine, but no one knows and no one cares. I'm not important enough for people to take notice of me. The locker I'm at doesn't belong to anyone important either. I can hear Jace and his friends laughing.

"Nah, man, I'll give her a four out of ten," Jace says.

Yes, he's a disgusting pig who rates girls and laughs with his dimwitted friends. They're making it so easy for me not to feel bad about what I'm doing.

"A four?" one of his friends asks. He's not a target so I don't really give a shit what his name is, at least not yet. "She's hot, man!"

She's sixteen, and that's actually Jace's problem. If she were sixty, he might've had a different opinion.

My muscles tense and my fingers curl and uncurl around my phone. I can't believe I'm nervous, but today is a big day. Another stepping stone for TMI. I haven't been this nervous since the first rumor went out.

Jace shakes his head, his scruffy blond locks brushing his forehead. He thinks his haircut is artistic since he's trying to copy Rod Wiseman, but he just looks unkempt and gross.

"Nope. Dog. Who else?"

I take my phone out and look at the screen. This is the first time I'm confirming a rumor without solid proof being provided as an attachment. I know I could get some if I tried harder, but that's not the point. This is a test. A kick up and proof of how much Petraka Academy trusts TMI.

The post is ready. All I have to do is upload it. And with the simple press of a button, it goes off into the universe, forever ingrained in the endless web that is the internet.

In a matter of seconds, all the phones around me start beeping. No one has silenced the notification coming from TMI. No one wants to be the last to know.

Like a giant heard of sheep, every student around me raises their phone and stares at the screen. I love this moment. It's so easy to make a real impression of people by the looks on their faces. Some are terrified, thinking the rumor might be about them. Some are annoyed, aware that gossip is stupid, but still conforming. Most of them have a savage look of pleasure morphing their features, like animals faced with hurt, helpless pray. 

I register each and every person in my line of sight for later use. I never feel sorry for people like them. In a fair world, they'd just be weeded out by evolution, but modern society has made natural selection so much harder. Once the general shock fades, my focus moves to Jace.

His mouth drops open and his eyes pop out of his head. His friends laugh, nudging each other.

"This true, man?" one of them asks.

All my muscles tense and a weird tingle settles over my skin. He sounds doubtful. I need his name. But all my worries and calculations are swept away by teenage stupidity.

"How did they know?" Jace splutters.

"Wait, it's true?" His doubtful friend's face lights up with glee. "You really get off on old people porn?"

Jace's face turns as scarlet as the locker behind him. "Shit. Hey, it's there for a reason. Stuff like that has millions of views."

"Yeah, from freaks like you."

The crowd is laughing and pointing. Anything concerning sex is always a hit, because that's all these hormonal seniors always think about. And a deviant is a thousand times juicier.

I hide my smile, my forehead pressed against the scarlet metal. My heart beats as fast as if I'd run a marathon. They bought it. The idiot admitted it himself, thinking everyone would believe it anyway since it was on TMI.

I didn't need to provide proof. TMI is now beyond needing proof.

"This app is amazing!" Rosie Geld's voice raises above the crowd, followed by her screeching hyena-like laugh.

Yes, it is. Just like it's amazing how stupid they all are. How no one wonders who is behind it, how they know.

There's a psycho stalker in their midst and they don't care.

The grin on my face widens and I have to bite the inside of my cheeks not to laugh out loud.

That psycho is me.