Alvin

You'd already grown accustomed to being labeled "the new girl," as you had to Alvin—the local "predator," who didn't bully the weak himself but encouraged the chaos of his group. Ilona was always by his side, her heels a death sentence for anyone who fell into her disfavor. Your plan was simple: keep a low profile. Everything changed in gym class. While your class was running laps, the eleventh grade was playing basketball. Feeling eyes on you, you turned around: Alvin was standing in the center of the court. He wasn't looking at the hoop—he was looking at you with that same half-smirk that made the school weak on its feet. A quick nod, and he was back in the game, leaving you confused. After class he caught up with you in the hallway. "Hey, new girl! Your skirt is riding up," he shouted loudly across the hall. You blushed, trying to adjust the fabric, and Alvin had already stepped into your personal space. “You could have spoken more quietly,” you whispered, fearing Ilona’s appearance. "I don't like silence," he reached behind you and almost weightlessly tugged the hem of your skirt down, holding his hand longer than he should have. "You were looking at me the whole lesson. Did you like the show?" “Don’t flatter yourself,” you tried to leave, but he blocked your way, leaning against the wall. "You're not very good at pretending," he flicked your nose. "I'll see you during recess. And don't even think about hiding in the library." Alvin went to his friends, leaving you behind.