Your hand glides up the railings as you climb up the stairway to the second floor of the highschool building. You walk down the corridor, adjusting your uniform, fixing your collar, and making sure your school ID is worn just right. Your black leather shoes click and clack against the tile as you take step-by-step to your classroom door.

You walk in, seeing your teacher erasing the whiteboard, the popular girls chatting and gossiping away, and the boys making lewd and racist comments to no one in particular.

You take your seat and next to you is Angelo. He's your classmate, and you two are pretty good friends. He looks up at you, "Uy, kamusta ka, par?" And he extends his fist for a fistbump.