MT   Hey, ASSHOLES.

MT   That's my locker.

You push your way through the crowd, through their yelps and complaints. The weight of eyes bears on you as you make it all the way to the other side, right next to that kid. Fortunately, your locker was right in the fray. You start fiddling with the lock, pretending that you don't feel the weight of all their eyes.

??   This doesn't concern you.

MT   It's a public space. FUCK if it has to do with me.

MT   What did you think would happen, doing this in front of the lockers?

MT   'This doesn't concern you.'

MT   God. How'd you come up with that one?

??   Listen, brat.

??   You're butting into our business.

??   Leave before we make you.

MT   I'm good.

MT   Do you accept constructive criticism, by the way?

MT   Because I think you should back off of this one. It's a bad look, for starters.

Next to you, the quiet kid's just holding themself by their arms and muttering. Wishing this was all over, probably. It's always some poor schmuck who cowers and makes themself a target. You'd at least respect bullying if it was done to someone who looked like they deserved it in some capacity.

??   You don't know shit.

??   We've got business with him, so...

??   Beat. it.

You hear the head grunt lean in. They're maybe 2 grades above you and nearly a foot taller. But you commit to getting the right combination, opening your locker and grabbing a lacrosse stick.

MT   How about you beat it?

You whirl around and make wide, aggressive movements towards them. Stunned, they take a few steps back. The crowd of preppy-looking girls with them step back, too. No one ever expects the stick.

??   What the fuck?

??   Are you - are you insane??

MT   Seriously, this is pathetic.

MT   All this fanfare, for just one person?

MT   And look at him.

MT   What could that guy do? What's your damage?

There's a strange, uncomfortable energy in the air, now. The clique are giving each other looks.

??   Is he serious?

??   Dude, I don't think you know that -

MT   I don’t need to know.

MT   It already looks bad as it is.

MT   Piss off, before I find out your locker combinations and burn your books.

The head grunt steps forward, their hands balled into fists.

??   Are you brain-dead?

??   This creep is the one who -

MT   B13, right?

Their eyes, narrowed, now widen. It gives you the adrenaline to smile, right in their stupid face.

MT   Knew it. It matches your DUMBASS bag.

MT   And it's not safe to have a 3-number combination.

MT   Someone could break in and burn your books.

??   ...

They snarl and give you a rough shove against the locker. Then, they turn around.

??   We're going to miss 4th period.

??   Jun, what about...?

??   Shut up.

??   Let this one deal with him.

Gradually, they start dispersing, shooting their own brands of glare your way. You try not to react, standing in the same position with lacrosse stick in defense mode. For some reason, some of their expressions look... sympathetic? Maybe this clique isn't as unified as it looks. You magnanimously hope each of them grow a spine and throw away this mob mentality.

Once they're all out of sight, you rub your shoulder and put the stick inside your backpack.

MT   FUCK. That smarts.

MT   I'm only saving one freak per semester from now on. This SHIT'S not worth it.

MT   ...

MT   Oh hell, is that a dent?

MT   DAMN it. They really pushed me that hard?

You place both your hands on your locker, willing QUBIT to move the matter back into its original shape. You can feel the particles shift underneath your palms as they glow mint. Eventually, the dent is reduced to a paltry scuff. Not like you can do any more, with where your Value is now.

??   ...

The loner's been watching you this whole time. You were avoiding eye contact at first, hoping they would scurry off. But they've been stuck in place. And when you turn to face them head-on, they jolt.

??   Wah!

MT   Hey. Earth to freak.

MT   You good?

??   I-I'm fine!

MT   ...

MT   Whatever.

You turn back to your locker and start gathering your belongings.

VC   My, um...

VC   My name is Vincent.

MT   ...

MT   Matt.

VC   You... saved me. Thank you.

MT   Well, I've been there.

MT   This GODDAMN academy's full of entitled pricks.

VC   I-Is that so?

MT   Yeah. So it matters to, y'know, do something about it.

You shut your locker, and the noise makes him jump. A piece of paper flutters out, so you reach down and grab it.

MT   Here.

VC   Oh, thank you.

As you hand it over, your eyes graze over the cover. You freeze. He takes it from your stilled hands, offering you a warm smile.

VC   Matt. I'm in your debt.

MT   ...

MT   No, actually, it's fine.

MT   Later.

You start walking down the hall. You can hear him calling out from the lockers.

VC   You're my hero.

MT   Not really.

MT   Goodbye.

VC   I owe you everything.

MT   You really don't.

MT   Also, I'm leaving right now. Away from you.

You quicken your pace. When you spare a glance behind you, he's right there.

MT   What the -

VC   What class do you have now?

MT   W... why?

Vincent matches your confused expression.

VC   I... thought it was obvious.

You swallow.

MT   ...

MT   I'm gonna be late.

You make a full sprint for the stairs. You weave past all the other students, thanking the gods that lacrosse has trained your legs so well. And when you head inside the classroom, dropping your backpack onto your seat, you breathe a sigh of relief. But not before you notice that the zipper is open.

MT   (Oh, FUCK.)

??   Settle down, class.

??   As you know, today's World Poetry Day.

MT   (DAMN it, did I drop the GODDAMN stick -)

??   So, please give your full attention -

MT   (I need to go back, but that freak -)

??   - to our guest speakers from Creative Writing.

The door opens as a handful of students come in. Defeated, you slump down in your seat.

??   The first poem is titled, "Perils of the Bleeding Heart."

??   You can go whenever you're ready, Mr. Labelle.

You finally bother to look to the front of the room. One of the students is looking at you. He's smiling. And he's holding a lacrosse stick.

You sink down even further in your chair.