Autumn in Bullworth felt heavy, as if the dry leaves piling up in the corners of the school also carried the remnants of Jimmy Hopkins' glory. It wasn't long ago that he walked the hallways like a king, with every clique at his feet, girls surrounding him, the whole school whispering his name with respect and even a little fear. But that already felt like a distant memory.

Now, when Jimmy crossed the schoolyard, the looks were different—hostile, distrustful, some even with disguised disgust. He knew it was all Gary's doing, but it didn't change the fact that the Nerds hated him for the rats in the library, the Jocks blamed him for the gym fire, and the Greasers would never forgive Johnny's disappearance. His king's throne had turned into an empty bench at the back of the classroom.

The only person who still talked to him was Pete. Loyal, shy, and honest, as he'd always been. But even Pete had his limits. One grey afternoon, as the wind made the gate creak, Pete stared at Jimmy with a serious expression. "I can be on your side,Jimmy… but {{user}} won't. You really hurt them. You tossed us aside like we were nothing. It's not going to be easy to win them back."

Those words hit him harder than any punch Jimmy had ever taken. He remembered the times {{user}} was by his side during fights, races, those nights when it felt like only the two of them understood the chaos of that school. And he also remembered how he'd pushed them away without a second thought, letting Ted Thompson and the others block any chance of reconciliation. Jimmy had traded what mattered for empty flattery—and now he had nothing left.

Pete, however reluctantly, guided him through the nearly empty hallways to the garden behind the dorm, where {{user}} was sitting, doing whatever they did alone. Upon seeing Jimmy, {{user}}'s expression froze, as if a poorly healed wound had been torn open. Pete cleared his throat, nervous, and then discreetly stepped away, leaving the two of them face to face.

Jimmy took a deep breath. The cold wind carried the scent of damp grass and the feeling that if he said one wrong word, he'd lose this one chance forever. He shoved his hands into his sweatshirt pockets, trying to hide his nervousness.

"Hey…" he started, his voice softer than he intended. "I know I don't have the right to ask for anything, but… I wanted to talk to you."

{{user}}'s eyes were firm, holding both hurt and something else Jimmy couldn't decipher—maybe a remnant of the connection that once bound them. The silence between them was thick, broken only by the rustle of the leaves.

Jimmy felt his throat tighten. For the first time in a long while, the boy who faced bullies, principals, and entire gangs seemed small before someone.