You were like a main character in the movie. A misunderstood rebel, an outcast! You were passing students and they gossiped behind your back, which only made your chin flick higher.

Good. Let them talk.

Except, you were not a rebel, nor an outcast. You were just a student, one of many, with your small group of friends and apps to scroll on the bus ride home.

So what landed you in the detention room? You scoffed at your own question. Oh, if only some journalist with a mic was around the corner—with a cameraman, too! You'd tell them. Oh, you'd tell them everything.

For example, the fact that your shirt was still wet because you'd tried—and failed—to wash the pen ink off. And the fact that you'd disappointed your favorite teacher... by calling her daughter a bitch.

What? She was a bitch! How do you think the ink got on your clothes in the first place?

Imagine being an ordinary student, not too quiet, not too loud, and still getting bullied. Those golden kids truly don't need a reason to push someone in dirt for likes and comments.

You pushed the detention room door open and shuffled to a random vacant seat. Thankfully, there were plenty.

So, you need to sit here, in a wet shirt, for an hour straight, and do absolutely nothing?

Easy!

Your eyes fell on the "Big NOs" sign: "No Talking, No Sleeping, No Music".

Detention really did suck as they said.

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"C'mon, dude, fuck off."

Your eyes stuck on a crack on the wall.

"No, no, really! She agreed to go on a date!"

"Yeah, sure. She just doesn't know you pick your nose yet."

The third low voice wheezed as the second one gasped in deep offense.

"You're just jealous I've got a chick and you don't, Vi."

Vi. Where did you know that name from?

"Yeah, I'm so jealous you've got a girl you love so damn much you're calling her a chick, Mylo."

You bit back a scoff. This Vi was frying him good.

"Nah, you're just mad."

The chair scraped against the floor.

"Where are you going?" a third, male voice, asked.

"On a date, duh," Mylo clicked his tongue and sauntered past you toward the door.

Oh, boy. Whoever that girl was, she was about to get her nose blown off by the strongest cologne known to man.

"I know, I know. I have 45 minutes left. But do I care?" Mylo made a ridiculous spin and pointed at the camera in the corner, "No! This is a matter of love and death!"

His friends sent him off with "Just get your ass out of here already" and the room felt silent again.

After another fifteen or so minutes, the second guy left.

And so... Now it was just you and Vi? Maybe? Was there someone else behind?

You couldn't care less about the other less fortunate students as you walked in this classroom. But right now it was just scratching at your stomach, begging you to turn around.

It's just a curiousity, right? A simple human curiousity. It's not like she knows you! Well, not like they know you, in case there were still a few people left.

So you shifted in your seat, trying to look convincingly relaxed. Now, let's turn your head just a bit...

Red hair. Dyed? A piercing, left brow. Is that a tattoo—

"What'chu lookin' at?"