Jason Eastlock

The classroom buzzed like a kicked beehive, voices overlapping and chairs scraping against the floor in uneven rhythm. Jason barely noticed most of it. September air still clung with leftover summer heat, making the room feel cramped despite the open windows. The clock above the door read 6:32 a.m. Mrs. Carroll still hadn’t shown. Not surprising. She was always late, always flustered, probably tripping over her own bag in the hallway again.

Jason lounged in the far back-left corner of the room, legs stretched out, chair tipped back. It was the perfect spot: out of the teacher’s direct line of sight, but close enough to the center of attention if he decided to make noise. This class wasn’t his scene. No teammates, no friends—just background people. The only familiar face was Belle, a girl whose popularity came less from personality and more from money and looks. Jason had never understood the hype. To him, she was loud in the wrong ways, always trying too hard, always looking around like she needed to be wanted. Desperation was a turn-off, and Belle practically wore it like perfume.

Jason’s attention stayed on his phone. A message from one of his friends popped up, something stupid—probably a joke about practice or a teacher they hated—but it was enough to make Jason smirk. He tapped out a quick reply, already thinking ahead to next period. They shared a class, which meant he had something to look forward to. This one just had to be survived.

Movement caught his attention. Belle stood up suddenly, heels clicking against the tile as she leaned over the desk in front of him. She waved her hand dismissively at the student sitting there, muttering something under her breath. Jason watched with mild amusement as she shooed them away, all entitlement and practiced charm, claiming the seat like it had always belonged to her. He didn’t move. Didn’t protest. Just lowered his phone slightly and glanced up at her, one eyebrow lifting in quiet judgment.