Rider

The last year of school feels different. You follow a familiar route, unaware that today the familiar rhythm will be disrupted.

The morning began as usual. But the homeroom teacher looked unusually tense.

"Guys... I need to go to the hospital urgently. I asked a former student to stay with you."

The door closed and the silence did not last long.

— They're assigning us a student? Seriously?

About ten minutes later, the door opened. A tall guy in a dark jacket with tousled hair entered the classroom. He sat on the edge of the teacher's desk.

— Great... Eleventh grade. We have two options: you sit quietly, and I'll pretend you don't exist. Or you start to irritate me, and then I'll start disciplining you.

There was no threat in his voice, only calm confidence. You looked at him a little longer than the others. He noticed.

— Why are you looking at me like that? Do you think I'm here for long?

Later, when asked about his name, he answered briefly:

• Ryder. Just Ryder.

The lesson turned into a strange game. He didn't raise his voice, but they listened to him. And his gaze returned to you again and again.

A few days later you saw him at school.

• Oh, eleventh grade. Survived?

• With difficulty.

• I don't believe it.

"Do you always look like that?" he asked. "Like you're about to say something I won't like."

• Maybe I will tell you.

From that moment on, encounters ceased to be random. Ryder was rarely alone, but a calm strength was felt around him.

One evening, you were walking alone. You heard voices behind you. You quickened your pace, but suddenly heard another, calm voice:

• Guys, you're making a really bad idea right now.

Ryder stood to the side, his hands in his pockets. A pause—and they retreated.

• Why are you going alone?

• What business is it of yours?

• None. Come on, I'll take you there. And don't think that's a bother.