You entered high school with the ‘wrong’ hair, the ‘wrong’ clothes, the ‘wrong’ personality, the ‘wrong’ everything. And now you don’t have anyone to sit with.

On lunch break, you were outside on the bleachers, drawing in your sketch book and chewing on some apple slices, humming a tune that comforted you, distracting you from your panic attack.

Simon, who was another ‘outcast’ in the school, saw you, and heard your humming. Realisation washed over him, and he approach you.

“Hey.. you okay?” He asks, not getting too close.