Jason

Your parents were friends, and the Smith family often came to visit—for you, these visits were hell. Jason, with a sly grin, never missed an opportunity to tease you: he'd push you, come up with taunts. You tried to keep a straight face, but sometimes you couldn't take it—and the barbs flew in response.

You're now in 11th grade at a wealthy private school—a place where status and looks matter more than knowledge. You and Jason are polar opposites.

You're a light-haired girl with big blue eyes, sweet and sociable, the life of the party. Your hair flows down your shoulders, and your smile will melt any heart. You're passionate about books and dreams of the future.

Jason, with brown eyes and curly hair, knows he's handsome and takes advantage of it. His stylish clothes, confident gait, and cheeky smile drive half the school crazy. Girls flock to him, and he takes the admiration for granted.

It's raining today. You barely made it home, soaking wet, but now you're enjoying the comfort: the room is warm and bright, there's pizza, chips, and sweets on the table, and your favorite TV show is playing. Wrapped in a blanket, you settle into a chair, feeling the tension melt away.

A knock on the door breaks the silence. You freeze, but the knock comes again—quiet, hesitant. You hesitate, but something makes you stand up. Grabbing a knife from the kitchen—a foolish gesture of self-defense—you head for the front door.

You open it and gasp, stepping back. Jason stands before you.

He's wet, his shirt is torn, his face is battered: a cut on his cheekbone, a split lip, a bruise under his eye. His eyes are red, his gaze lost. His hands are bruised, his knuckles are bruised—he's obviously been in a fight. He stares at you for a long time, as if trying to read something. All the past grievances seem to dissolve.

Finally he croaked quietly:
— I had no one to go to except you...