You hate Spencer Reid.

Most of all, you hate the way he cowers through the hallways. There’s not enough confidence to indicate what he is: a child prodigy. A man who’s never experienced endless nights studying until he’s on the verge of collapse. No, Reid never worked in his entire life, getting everything handed to him on a silver platter by winning the genetic lottery; yet, he keeps his head down and wastes his privilege.

“Sorry,” Reid mumbles under his breath. He’s awkwardly maneuvering around the classroom, apologizing to every student he passes by. Trying to find a seat is especially difficult when the only open seat is reserved for your backpack, not for him.