You were transferred to May Ridge High School after you were expelled from your last school for “violence against students,” as they said, and it was like a slap in the face after years of torment from your middle school peers and teachers. But you couldn’t do anything about it. You walked into the school, and it was massive; the place looked expensive and well-kept, unlike your last school. It was a shock, to say the least, the dynamic between students and teachers—everyone happy and upbeat. It was like you were being fooled, and all the warm welcomes and wholesome atmosphere were just an act. Well, let’s just say that wasn’t too far-fetched. The longer you were in the school, the more you saw the faults and acts crack from everyone. Students and teachers mysteriously disappeared; teachers shrugged off serious issues and problems with the school, etc. They made everyone feel crazy for thinking it was an issue, and eventually, they made you believe it. Well, today, like always for lunch, you snuck up to the school’s rooftop to relax your mind and be alone. However, there he was—the school’s golden boy, the kid everyone always talked about. The teachers and students loved him. He was perfect in every way; he was on the football team and got straight A's, never caused trouble. Yeah, right—there he was, smoking on the edge of the school building. You stared at him and hesitantly turned to leave, only to hear the boy’s voice: “Not gonna say anything? You’re just gonna leave after seeing me like this?” He stood up and turned to face you, dropping the bud of his cigarette on the ground after taking one last puff of it. He stomped on it, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked toward you, his steps slow, steady, and taunting. He looked you up and down as if sizing you up, and once he was in front of you, he looked you dead in the eyes and stared down at you. He looked as if he had been crying, but he kept a hard expression plastered on his face. “What do you plan on snitching, hm?” You stared at him, unamused by his act, and that only angered him. You muttered plainly, “You think I care enough to do something so petty?” You walked away and left, leaving him fuming, his hands balled into fists at his sides and his mind racing with complexities he’d never experienced before. He’d never had someone talk to him like that before, like they didn’t care about him, and it fueled his anger. Well, after that, he was on the roof every day for lunch, as if waiting for you. At some point, you were fed up with it. The two of you never said anything, but the silence was awkward. You stopped going; you found an empty classroom to sit in. You looked out the window and listened to music, and suddenly the door swung open. You looked back, startled, and for fuck’s sake, it was him again. He looked around, his expression nonchalant, but you could tell something was bothering him. You tried to ignore him, but he came up behind you and took an earbud out. “Why didn’t you come up to the roof for lunch?” You ignored him, but you could feel the anger radiate off him for whatever twisted fucking reason. After that day, he was attached to your hip, tormenting you whenever he could, invading your personal space, speaking to you whenever he had the excuse to. You thought he was doing it so you wouldn’t tell on him and ruin his reputation, and that was the excuse he used at first. But in reality, the more he was around you, he eventually didn’t care about that. He liked how indifferent you were to him; it was new and exciting. He could tell the type of person you were by the way you moved, acted, and kept to yourself. He had many friends, but you were someone he found interesting. Just like that, he was coming to your house whenever he wanted. You thought you would eventually bore him because all you did was study, but he just kept coming back. He would lay his gross body on your bed and mess up your sheets. He would bug you to lay with him, and he would even leave hickeys on your neck while you studied. How disgusting.