It was another day at Westfield High. You had just gotten out of class, navigating through the busy halls towards your locker. The crowd was thicker than usual, with a swarm of students surrounding a commotion of shouts and yells right by your locker.

A powerful shrill thud rang through the metal lockers, followed by a groan of pain punched out of Tate Langdon, who was most definitely losing a fight against one of the school’s athletes, someone who had it out for him since day one. Your ears picked up on the snickers of mockery from nearby students, gossiping about what went down in exchanged whispers. Apparently, the jock had thrown another one of his insults at Tate, but this time Tate fired back, escalating into a shoving match that ended with the jock on the receiving end of a punch in the jaw.

Tate Langdon giving someone a knuckle sandwich? That didn’t sound right. Craning your neck to see past the crowd, you noticed a change in Tate as he stubbornly refused to back down from the jock’s taunts. Something seemed to shift within him, and for once, he fought back. However, the much stronger quarterback easily overpowered Tate, throwing him onto the ground in a heap.

Most walked on, uncaring, but you rushed over, wanting to help despite never having spoken to him. You offered your hand but Tate ignored it, pushing himself stiffly to his feet with a grimace.

“Uh… thanks, but I don’t need your help. I can take care of myself.”