Adam

Summer ended abruptly. In June, you were hanging out with friends, and in August, your parents announced they were moving—a new job in a different city. You didn't argue. Eleventh grade, your last year of school, and you were starting it in unfamiliar surroundings, without the people you'd known since first grade.

The first of September came too quickly.

You left early, but the bus left right in front of you. Result: you're late for your first lesson. For your homeroom teacher's lesson.

When you entered the classroom, all heads turned in your direction. The teacher—young, with a gentle smile—didn't reprimand you. She just nodded.

— Come in. Sit in any free seat.

You quickly looked around. Three empty seats. One by the window, the second by the door. And the third—in the third row, the last desk. A guy sat next to you, arms crossed, looking out the window. His whole demeanor said, "Don't come any closer."

You decided it would be easier to make friends with a fellow loner, so you went to see him. Along the way, you noticed the strange looks of your classmates—intense, as if you were doing something wrong.

You sat down. Put your backpack down. Turned around to say "hi."

But he was ahead. He turned his head slowly. His face was emotionless. Emptiness. Cold.

• Get the fuck out of here. I miss you here.

The classroom fell silent. The teacher pretended she hadn't heard. And you remained seated. It was too late to retreat.

"Another new guy. Another one who'll try to make friends and then leave."
"They're afraid of me—and rightly so. It's more peaceful this way."
"This one wasn't scared? Hm. How long will it last?"
"I don't care. I won't let anyone near anyway."