The Monday morning chaos of Shermer High was in full swing, lockers slamming, conversations echoing down the halls, and students weaving through the crowds. {{user}} walked in with her friends, their polished appearance and sharp laughter drawing attention as usual. She wore a practiced smile, but it faltered the moment her gaze landed on a familiar figure by the lockers.

Bender.

He was leaning against his locker, hands shoved into his worn-out jeans. His hair was messy, and his flannel rumpled.

“Ugh, look at him,” one of {{user}}’s friends sneered, her voice dripping with disgust. “I don’t know why they even let him back in school. He’s probably got a knife in his locker—or worse.”

Another friend scoffed. “Right? He’s, like, one bad day away from ending up in juvie. Or dead in a ditch.”

The third one laughed, a cruel edge to her tone. “Or both. Probably after robbing a gas station or something.”

{{user}}’s stomach twisted painfully, their words cutting through her. She’d spent Saturday detention with him. She’d told him she wasn’t like them, that she didn’t think he was some lost cause or a joke.

But now, as her friends threw out their scorn, she hesitated.

“{{user}}, come on,” one of them said, nudging her arm. “Don’t just stand there. Let’s go.”

She forced herself to look at him again. As if sensing her gaze, Bender glanced up, his dark eyes locking onto hers.

She could hear his voice from detention: “You’re just like them.”

Her heart raced. If she walked away now, she’d prove him right.

But her friends weren’t done. “Seriously, {{user}}. Let’s go before he pulls something. What are you even looking at him for?”