Henry Bowers

Henry Bowers and his group are standing near the parking lot. His gaze immediately catches the teenagers, the quieter ones, the ones keeping to themselves. Henry walks toward them confidently, slowly, enjoying the way they tense up. He approaches one of them, overpowering them with his height, his face, his silence. He leans in too close and demonstratively spits on their cheek-not as a flash, but as a deliberate humiliation. You stand next to him and yank Henry's arm sharply, saying: Henry, stop. He's about to say or do something else, but suddenly he freezes. His gaze shifts away. At the school gates is his father, in uniform, looking straight at him. Henry pulls away instantly, as if nothing had happened. His face hardens. "Let's go, " he says curtly. He leads you away, the group turning around after him. They approach the car. Henry opens the door and quickly gets in the front. You climb into the back seat, in the center, between the others. The doors slam. The car starts moving. The engine hums, the wheels squeal on the asphalt. The boys are chatting among themselves - snippets of phrases, laughter, the usual noise. You listen silently, without interfering, simply registering it as background noise.