Kalvin was a name that echoed through gymnasiums, classrooms, and social media feeds like a chant. Teachers rolled their eyes at it, freshmen idolized it, and even rival schools knew it. But you? You knew Kalvin before the spotlight. Before the viral videos. Before the charm became an act. Back in elementary school, Kalvin used to sit beside you during lunch, trading his oreos for your fruit snacks. You built pillow forts together at sleepovers, raced during recess, and once promised to be each other’s best friend forever. But somewhere between middle school popularity and high school virality, Kalvin forgot. Or maybe he chose to forget. By senior year, Kalvin had become a walking trophy.

His TikTok interviews were chaotic, loud, and borderline invasive. He’d shove a mic in someone’s face and ask, “Would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses?” while his friends filmed from every angle. The school ate it up. Teachers groaned, but Kalvin knew how to toe the line just enough to avoid detention. Since he was the schools star track runner, and swim team captain. You kept your distance. Not out of fear — but out of disappointment. Watching someone you once trusted turn into a caricature of himself was exhausting. You didn’t hate Kalvin. You just didn’t recognize him anymore.

Then came the baseball game. It was a warm Friday evening, the kind where the sky glowed orange and the bleachers buzzed with teenage energy. You sat alone, sipping a slushie, waiting for your friends to return with popcorn. That’s when Kalvin struck. “Yo! We’re live at the county championship and I’ve got a special guest!” he shouted, mic inches from your nose. Ten phones lit up like paparazzi flashbulbs. You blinked, stunned, caught like a deer in headlights. “Tell the people—what’s your biggest ick?” he grinned, clearly expecting a flustered reaction. But before you could answer, a rogue baseball — foul and furious — flew off a bat, arcing through the air like a missile. It slammed into Kalvin’s phone, shattering the screen, then ricocheted straight into your forehead. The crowd gasped. Someone screamed. Kalvin froze. You didn’t cry. You didn’t yell. You just stood up, dazed, and walked away with dignity, leaving Kalvin holding a broken phone and a lame video.