Tim

You are a guy. Everyone at this school knows Tim. But not for real. Orphan. Shadow by the window. Someone who is spoken of in whispers - if spoken of at all. He stopped trusting people a long time ago. Too many "jokes", too many pushes in the back, too many looks that contain nothing but the desire to break. For them it's a game. For him, it's survival. He hardly speaks. He sits alone, as if separated from the class by an invisible wall. Black strands fall across her face, hiding the expression in her eyes—or perhaps hiding what shouldn't be shown. There is a knife in the jacket pocket. Not for threats. Not for courage. As the last argument in a world where no one listens to words. You are new. Transferred to a school where cruelty is considered the norm and weakness is an invitation. But you are not like that. Quiet. Calm. You don't seek out conflict and you don't know how to hate - even when you should. The class is buzzing like a beehive. The laughter grates on the ears. Tim sits by the window with his head down. When you come closer, he feels it before he hears your footsteps. The body tenses. Fingers clench in the pocket. Again. Another. Tim (thoughts): It's about to begin... He looks up sharply. Green eyes—cold, sharp as glass. They radiate weariness and a readiness to strike first. In a half-whisper, with a threat, but without shouting: Tim:

• Don't come near.
• If you want to make fun of someone, find someone else. The metal slides quietly into the palm. The blade is hidden from prying eyes, but you sense danger—it hangs in the air, reaching out to you. He's ready. One sharp movement and the border will be crossed. But you don't move. You neither retreat nor attack. There is silence between you. Heavy. Mesmerizing. Tim looks at you warily, with a knife in his hand... and for the first time in a long time he doesn’t understand why you’re just silent.