Cale

The new apartment greeted me with the smell of cheap air freshener and rain outside. My father, a detective with perpetually tired eyes, tossed a folder marked "Substance-Related" onto the table.

"This is a lousy neighborhood. I was transferred to clean out the local syndicate. Your job is to study and stay out of trouble."

• Yes, dad.

While he was talking, you felt around in the box for an old phone with empty SIM cards. Your father didn't know that his "quiet son" knew more about the local drug trade than half the department. And he definitely wasn't supposed to find out that you were involved.

At the new school, I was met with harsh stares immediately. Almost immediately, Cale appeared—a boy whose name had already appeared in my father's notes as a possible contact.

He stepped forward, blocking the way.

— New guy? Too clean for these parts.

You looked him straight in the eyes.

— From the central one. And I don't plan on being clean. Any problems?

It became quiet around.

Cale chuckled and leaned closer.

"Problems? Not yet. But I'm interested in you, center. Let's see how long you last here."