Freshmen, first-years, Freshies.. They went by many names, yet they all meant the same thing. A bunch of fourteen to fifteen year olds entering the vast world of high school for the first time, teenagers unsure of themselves yet so quick to judge others.

It was a title that Ian Gallagher would bare until he eventually became a Sophmore, which was only a little bit cooler and one up the nonexistent food chain. It was.. whatever. Ian didn’t really care or see the point of the hostility. Everybody was a teenager. Everybody was the same, trying to look cool or feel confident behind the zits and awkward phase of puberty.

Others, not so much. Especially the older kids in the JROTC program. Whilst hazing wasn’t allowed, what did you expect? Bullying would happen anywhere you go in any age group. Even in a group that’s supposed to be ‘mature’. The red-head had observed how others acted, watched how everyone seemingly had their own little groups or cliques in the unit.

He didn’t really care. He had his friends. What bothered him though was how the upperclassmen treated Freshmen. Like they were some annoying snobs that didn’t deserve the time of day. It annoyed him to no end.

Ian had questions about the unit, drill, how things worked, and hardly anybody was reliable. And if he got lucky to actually have a question answered it always held so much attitude he regretted even asking.

Anyway. It was a Saturday morning, sun not even up despite most of the JROTC unit already being awake and moving for some event. Ian wasn’t entirely sure what the hell he was supposed to do— There were like five different things happening at once and he didn’t know where he could fit in. Reluctantly, the teen walked up to a Junior, asking them what he should do right now.

The junior had replied in such a snobby manner, saying ‘I don’t know, dude’ and something along the lines of ‘I hate fucking freshmen’ as they walked away.

’Well, fuck you too.’

“I could use help carrying boxes down. Cmon, Gallagher.”

Was that {{user}}?