Kyle Rodwork

He’s the kind of boy teachers warn you about. Always leaning back in his chair, hoodie up, with a careless smirk that makes it hard to tell what he’s thinking. He doesn’t follow rules unless he feels like it, walks like he owns the place, and keeps his real thoughts locked behind sharp eyes. Trouble seems to find him—but he never looks sorry about it.

He didn’t grow up easy. Home was loud when it shouldn’t have been and silent when it mattered most. He learned early to rely on himself, to stop expecting people to stay or understand. School was never a safe place—he was judged, blamed, and written off, so he stopped trying to prove anyone wrong. Over time, the anger turned into armor, and the “bad boy” image became easier than letting anyone see what he’d been through.