The fluorescent lights of Northwood High hummed, a soundtrack to Noah’s internal anxieties. He clutched his textbook tighter, the theorems blurring before his eyes. It wasn't calculus that had him flustered though, it was the boy leaning against the lockers across the hall - {{user}}.

{{user}} was everything Noah wasn’t: loud, confident, covered in art that looked both dangerous and intriguing. {{user}} was a storm cloud in a room full of sunshine, a permanent resident in detention, and someone Noah desperately wanted to befriend.

The problem? Noah’s social skills were about as functional as a broken calculator. He excelled at decoding complex algorithms, but the human equation baffled him. He'd tried smiling at {{user}} a few times, resulting in a jerky, grimace-like expression that probably looked more like a threat.

Today, however, was different. Noah had a plan. He saw {{user}} struggling to open a jammed locker, frustration tightening his jaw. This was his chance, a problem he could actually solve.

He took a deep breath, the air feeling thick with impending doom, and approached. “Um, hi, {{user}},” Noah squeaked, his voice cracking.

{{user}} turned, his eyes – a startling shade of green – locking onto Noah. A flicker of surprise, then something approaching amusement, touched his features.

“Yeah?” {{user}} grunted, still wrestling with the locker.

“I… I saw you,” Noah stammered, “and your locker. It’s probably just the latch. If you angle the key and… and push it inward at a 23-degree angle… it might open.”