Ever feel like life just has it out for you? Like no matter what you do, you’re constantly running into walls or swimming against the current? It’s like being stuck in thick, heavy air that makes every breath feel like a fight. If you’ve never felt that way, consider yourself lucky. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same about my life.

  Hey, I’m Connor Drails. Just your regular, nothing-special kid who manages to blend in without being invisible. I’m more of an introvert, preferring quiet moments over loud ones. I enjoy a little solitude, not because I’m a loner, but because it feels like I can finally breathe when the world calms down.

  I’m not great at navigating big crowds or loud social events, though I find people fascinating. Still, put me in a room full of people, and I’ll stick out—not because I’m charismatic or funny, but because I’m awkward. I fumble over words, laugh at the wrong moments, or just hover on the sidelines. Being alone feels easier. Not that I don’t have friends—I do. One of them is Greg Jimmons.

  Greg is...well, he’s the kind of guy who can make even the most boring day feel like an adventure. He’s got this effortless vibe, like he doesn’t have to try to be cool. He’s tall and lean, usually wearing his favorite pair of faded blue jeans and gray Levi shoes that somehow stand out no matter what else he’s wearing. His skin has this sun-kissed glow, and his brown hair always looks like he’s been caught in a windstorm but couldn’t care less. That’s Greg for you.

  Today was one of those days I’d been dreading for weeks: prom day. At Wolfpack School, prom wasn’t just an event; it was a constant buzz, the one thing everyone wanted to talk about. Everywhere I turned, people kept asking me the same question: “So, Connor, do you have a prom date?” It felt like they thought my social status depended on it.

  For context, I’m a sophomore here. I’ve been at Wolfpack for about a year now. My family moved from Utah to California because my dad got a job as a cameraman in Hollywood. We could probably afford a bigger house, but my dad’s a stickler for saving. He’s always stressed about bills and costs, but I try to stay out of those grown-up problems.

  Starting at a new school wasn’t easy. Making one good friend like Greg was a relief, but of course, high school wouldn’t be complete without a bully. Enter Kirk Jexifan. The guy made it his mission to make my life miserable. Lunches? Gone. Books? Hidden or vandalized. The guy’s pranks knew no bounds, and I often found myself going hungry because of him. Greg, though, always had my back with what we called “emergency snacks.”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Walking through the halls of Wolfpack School is like navigating a maze during rush hour. The hallways are so packed you can’t move without bumping into someone. The noise is a constant hum of lockers slamming, voices yelling, and sneakers squeaking against the tile floors.

  When I reached my locker—number 426—I braced myself before opening it. Thankfully, nothing was missing or messed with this time. Occasionally, people like Kirk figure out how to pop open lockers and pull dumb pranks, like stealing textbooks or scattering your stuff everywhere. As I grabbed my science book, I felt a light tap on my shoulder. It was so familiar I didn’t even have to look.

  “Hey, Greg,” I said, turning around.

  Greg stood there in his usual outfit, his signature grin plastered on his face. Today he was wearing a purple shirt that somehow made his eyes sparkle mischievously.

  “So,” he said, leaning casually against the lockers. “Any progress on the whole prom date thing?”

  I sighed and gave him a look that screamed don’t even start.

  “Negative,” I said flatly.

  Greg raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised but not giving up.

  “Why not?” he pressed.

  I groaned. “Because prom isn’t my thing, Greg. I don’t care about who’s going with who, or what they’re wearing, or any of it. Honestly, someone could show up with a two-headed rat, and I wouldn’t even blink.”

  Greg smirked. “You know your mom’s going to make you go, right?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine, I’ll go. But I’m not asking anyone. I’ll just be there, do my time, and then we can come back to my place, play video games, and forget the whole thing ever happened.”

  I slammed my locker shut, but as soon as I did, the noise in the hallway seemed to die down. It was eerie—like the world hit pause. The air felt heavy, and a cold shiver ran down my spine.

  I turned around slowly, my stomach sinking. There he was: Kirk Jexifan, all six-foot-seven of him, towering over me like a nightmare come to life. His smirk was as smug as ever, and he leaned in close enough that I could smell his cheap cologne.

  “Hey there, Conny-Corn,” he sneered.

  I tried to move, but my legs were frozen. Kirk took a step closer, and it felt like the walls of the hallway were closing in. My brain screamed at me to run, to do something, but I just stood there, helpless.

  Kirk raised his fist, and I knew what was coming. This wasn’t the first time he’d threatened me, but today felt different. It felt final, like this was the moment he’d finally break me.

  And then, out of nowhere, something snapped inside me. Before I even realized what I was doing, my fist clenched. I shut my eyes tight, wishing it was all a dream, that I’d wake up in my bed and laugh about how ridiculous it all was.

  But the pain in my knuckles told me this was no dream. My fist had collided with Kirk’s face, and the shock of it reverberated through both of us. I heard him grunt, felt his weight shift backward, and for a split second, the power dynamic flipped.

  I kept my eyes shut, too scared to see what I’d done.