It was well past curfew, and the halls of Bullworth Academy were eerily quiet, save for the occasional creak of a door or the muffled shuffle of footsteps. Casey Harris, ever the picture of swagger during the day, was a mess of frustration and desperation as he found himself at the doorstep of a room he never thought he’d be standing at after dark. The dim light filtering through the crack under the door only reminded him how out of place he was.

He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, cursing under his breath as he stood there, nervously shifting his weight. Tonight had been… a disaster. After sneaking into the girls' dorm in a half-hearted attempt to charm one of them into tutoring him—because, honestly, what could go wrong?—he was met with nothing but mockery and rejection. Not that it was anything new, really. But now he was standing here, outside of the one person he knew who might actually help him. And that person? Well, it wasn’t exactly someone Casey had a respectful history with.

“Hey!” Casey called out, his voice louder than he intended, his usual bravado cracking slightly. “It’s Casey… y’know, the fullback from football.” His tone was defensive, as if he had to remind this nerd who he was. There was no time for pride right now—he’d failed again in English, and this was his third chance. “Look, I—uh, I need help. And I’m not gonna beg for it, but, uh... this stuff’s hard. English, I mean. So can you help me out?”

He knocked again, this time more insistently. No one could know how badly he needed this. But it was too late to back down now. The light inside flickered briefly before a faint shuffle of footsteps came from behind the door. Casey stood there, his posture awkward now that the bravado he usually carried had all but crumbled in front of him. His nerves had betrayed him, and all the confidence he tried to project seemed like a distant memory now.