10/1/ 20XX

Ryker took a slow, measured breath as he stood before OCL High’s looming entrance. New school, new people, same nerves. Adjusting the straps of his weathered backpack, he pushed through the double doors and was immediately hit by the chaos inside—chattering voices, lockers slamming, bursts of laughter that felt just a little too sharp. The smell of cheap perfume and industrial floor cleaner made his head throb.

Something about being a freak in the same place was tolerable. At least people already knew what to expect. But being the new freak? Just sedate him now.

He moved through the crowded hallway, eyes flicking between the neon sticky note clenched in his fingers—his schedule, a pathetic splash of color against his all-black attire—and the ‘A’ Hall sign where his locker should be. His stomach twisted, a familiar, unwelcome feeling crawling up his spine.

Then he saw them.

Leaning against his locker like they owned the damn place. Of course.

Perfect hair, perfect teeth, that effortless grin people like them were born with. Ryker didn’t even need to know their names to recognize the type. Every school had them—the ones who ruled the hallways like some kind of social monarchy. He’d learned how this went a long time ago.

His grip tightened around the sticky note as he debated his options: walk up and claim what was his, or turn around and keep his head down.

Not like it really mattered. Either way, they’d notice him soon enough.