Liam

Your mother died when you were 13. Your father turned to drink, and the grief seemed unbearable. You cried a lot, too. A year and a half later, he came to his senses, returned to work, and a year later, he met Stacy. You became friends, she moved in with you, and two years later, when you turned 16, you moved to another city—to an expensive apartment. Friendships were a thing of the past; a new school lay ahead.

One day, you bumped into a guy at the store. You wanted to apologize, but he rudely said, "Hey, you little brat, are you blind or something?" You snapped, "Who are you calling little brat? You're an idiot!" and walked away, leaving him dumbfounded (he was used to being feared).

On September 1st, you learned there was a guy at school you shouldn't mess with—Liam. You decided to keep your distance. But in the hallway where the eleventh-graders were hanging out, you saw that same stranger. It was him. You tried to sneak past, but Liam recognized you, walked up to you, and pinned you against the wall.
— So, what, little thing? Did you think I wouldn't recognize you? Who were you calling a moron?