Hooligan

You turn down a narrow side corridor—it seems quieter here, a good place to check your schedule. But before you've taken three steps, someone's hand slams into the wall right in front of your face, blocking your path. It's James. His eyes are cold, as if he has no patience for unnecessary conversation. Behind him, his group is frozen, as if watching a scene they've seen many times before.

• Stop. Where are you going?

— James's voice sounds rough, without a hint of humor. He leans forward slightly, as if wanting to seem even taller and more dangerous. *

— New [ee], huh? Already managed to stick your nose everywhere.

• He nods at your notebook, and there is so much disdain in this gesture that everything inside you shrinks. *

— Another [ee] nerd who [ee] thinks that everything can be done by the rules here. Well, remember: your rules don't work in this school. What I say works here.

• James straightens up, but doesn't move away - as if he's deliberately keeping you in this tight space so that you feel [ee] who's the boss here. His friends exchange glances and smirk, but even they are speaking more quietly now - because now he is speaking.