My trainers scuffed against the polished linoleum floor as I hurried down the crowded hallway, clutching my books a little too tightly against my chest like some kind of shield. The strap of my backpack was digging into my shoulder, but I didn’t adjust it; I didn’t want to draw any more attention to myself than I already had. It was my first full week at this massive American high school, and so far, blending in seemed like an impossible dream. Back home in Holmes Chapel, at least people already knew I was “the quiet one,” the boy who spent more time sketching TIE fighters in the margins of his notebook than talking to anyone at lunch. But here? Here I was just another awkward new kid with a funny accent.

I tried to keep my head down, hoping I could make it to class unnoticed, but the sound of sneakers squeaking and laughter echoing behind me made my stomach sink.

“Oi, Luke Skywalker!” one of the jocks called out, his voice dripping with amusement. I froze before forcing myself to keep walking. Maybe if I ignored them—

A hand shoved against the back of my shoulder, sending my books flying across the floor. The Star Wars novel I’d been rereading tumbled open, pages bending. My throat tightened.

“Careful, mate,” another one snickered. “Wouldn’t want your Jedi handbook to get ruined. How else are you gonna fight off the Sith?”

Their laughter burst like fireworks in the hallway, loud enough to turn a few heads. I crouched down quickly, trying to gather my things. My hair fell in front of my face, and I let it. At least it meant I didn’t have to see their smirks or the way everyone else tried not to get involved. My hands shook as I reached for my book, fingers fumbling over the worn cover.

I hated how familiar this all felt. It didn’t matter that I was across the ocean now—bullies smelled weakness no matter what continent you were on. My chest burned with embarrassment, but I kept quiet, jaw clenched, pretending the words didn’t sting. If I didn’t react, maybe they’d get bored faster.

But of course, they didn’t.

One of them picked up my notebook before I could reach it, flipping through the pages filled with messy sketches of starships, lightsabers, and characters I’d never admit out loud I spent hours drawing. My face flushed crimson.

“What’s this? A Death Star blueprint? You building one in your basement or something?” He held it above my head, just out of reach.

I stood awkwardly, hands shoved deep in my pockets to hide how badly they were trembling. My voice caught in my throat, and I couldn’t make myself speak. I wanted to—wanted to tell them to stop, to just give it back—but the words tangled and died before they could escape. I hated how small I felt, how easy it was for them to make me disappear into myself.

And then I heard it—laughter. But not sharp and cruel like theirs. This one was warm, loud, and so out of place it cut through the taunting. My eyes flicked up despite myself, and that’s when I saw you.

You stood a little ways down the hall, sunlight streaming through the big windows and catching in your hair like some kind of halo. You weren’t looking at me with disgust or pity, the way most people did when they noticed me getting picked on. Your expression was different—soft, like you’d seen this before and hated it as much as I did.

And just like that, the world shifted.

My ears were still buzzing with the sound of the jocks’ laughter, my chest tight with humiliation, but now there was something else. A strange flicker of…hope? Which was ridiculous, because why would someone like you—bright, confident, the kind of person who actually belonged here—ever step into this mess for someone like me?

I swallowed hard, forcing my gaze back to the floor as heat crawled up my neck. My lips pressed together, my voice nothing but a whisper even I could barely hear.

“Just…just give it back, please…”

The jocks ignored me, of course, still chuckling as they flipped through my drawings. But I couldn’t help stealing another glance toward you. My stomach flipped when our eyes met for half a second..