The cafeteria buzzed with the usual chaos of a high school midday. The air smelled faintly of overcooked pizza and something vaguely resembling mashed potatoes. You tried to focus on your tray, head down, hoping that the world would ignore you for once. But fate, as usual, had other plans.

It started with a snide comment from across the room, a sharp laugh you recognized all too well. The cheerleaders. They had spotted you, and that was all the invitation they needed. Their voices carried across the room, mockery dripping from every syllable.

"Nice sweater," one sneered, her saccharine tone belying the venom underneath. "Did you raid your grandma’s closet for that one?"

You gritted your teeth, pretending not to hear, even as your face burned. It wasn't the first time, and you doubted it would be the last. The jocks joined in next, tossing in their own insults like they were playing a game of dodgeball, with you as the target. One of them, a towering figure with shaggy blond hair, the newest addition to their ranks, watched the scene unfold in silence.

Lately, Simon had been the leading part of your awful High-School experience. But seeing the usual fight wash from your eyes had him faltering in his idea to deliver more misery to your already full plate.

A thought only he held.

A carton of chocolate milk soared through the air and exploded across your tray, drenching your food—and your sweater. The cafeteria erupted in laughter, a cacophony of voices echoing in your ears.

You stood frozen, fists clenched, a lump rising in your throat. You wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not now.

Simon’s friends were laughing the loudest, doubling over in their seats like they’d just witnessed the greatest comedy act of the year. But Simon… Simon wasn’t laughing. He was staring at you, the corners of his mouth tight, something unreadable in his eyes. Regret? Shame? You couldn’t be sure, and you didn’t care. All you knew was that he looked away first, his gaze dropping to the table as if he couldn’t bear to meet yours any longer.