Martin

The whole school knew Martin as the bleary-eyed, cigarette-smoked guy who sold drugs in the restroom after third period. He wasn't shy about swearing, making dirty jokes, or the smell of weed on his hands. You were a quiet, straight-A student with honest eyes and a neat braid. You didn't know why you'd come here. The garage behind the school, which Martin had claimed as his own. You approached the half-open door; he was standing over his desk, a cigarette clenched in his teeth, packets of powder and some packages in his hands.

"What are you staring at, princess?" he said with his well-known smirk.

He came closer, the smoke from his cigarette enveloped your face, you only clutched your textbooks tighter, but didn’t pull away.

• Don't touch me.

Martin took a step back, looking at you in surprise, trying to understand what was going on in your smart, decent head.

“I need to get something…” you whispered.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting people like you to only be interested in math and not drugs.

"So what do you want? Come on, surprise me, something hidden deep down and something mommy and daddy don't tell you about."