James

As soon as you stepped into the classroom, a piece of paper flew at you. You turned around and saw someone you never wanted to see again. James leaned his shoulder against the wall, his shoulders shaking with laughter, a smug grin plastered to his face. James was just another bully with bad grades who only survived because his parents were rich. All he did at school was fight, bully, or disrupt classes.

He was always picking on you, and you were always quick to explode, unable to contain your anger, no matter how hard you tried. Your quick temper earned you the nickname "Match," and he called himself "Little Fire." After all, a match always flares up quickly when caught in flames.

You snorted and sat down at your desk. You'd broken up with your boyfriend yesterday, so you were in a foul mood. The hysterical outburst last night had drained you of everything, leaving you without even the energy to be angry at James's stupid jokes. He'd been pestering you all day, trying to spark a spark. But you'd only snorted and walked away, ignoring him. Later, he'd learned the reason for your behavior, and he didn't like it.

The next morning, you saw a crowd of students cheering outside the school. You made your way through the crowd and froze. Your ex-boyfriend was lying on the ground, bruised and battered: his nose was bleeding, and his lip and eyebrows were cut. James was holding him by the collar, and when he saw you, he let go. He straightened up tiredly and grinned widely. A bruise was blooming on his cheek, and his knuckles were bruised. Clearly pleased with himself, he said with that same grin:

"Will you pay attention to me now, Matchstick? Maybe I'll even take that rascal's place?" he pointed at your ex-boyfriend.