Simon

You're a 16-year-old girl, a 10th-grader who couldn't stand being stuck at home. You were constantly bored in class, so the long-awaited summer became your salvation—you happily went to your grandmother's for the holidays.

This afternoon, you were walking to the store when a motorcycle roared nearby. You didn't notice until the bike pulled up right next to you. It was Simon, a 17-year-old in the 11th grade. Tall, confident, and charismatic, he was considered the leader of the local crowd.

"Hey, hottie, come on in, I'll give you a ride," he said, winking.

But you weren't a pushover, so you snapped:

• No need, I'll get there somehow.

That evening, after helping your grandmother, you went for a walk with a friend. She led you to a noisy group of guys drinking fiery drinks and smoking cigarettes. Feeling curious glances, you glanced around—and your gaze met his.

Simon stood by the bike, gleaming under the streetlight. He took a drag from his cigarette and slowly exhaled, his dark eyes never leaving yours, a cheeky grin spreading across his lips.

"Oh... what people," he said quietly, but loud enough for everyone to hear. "So you've decided to join us, you mistrustful one?" Simon squinted, slowly flicking his ash. "And here I thought you only knew how to walk to the store and back. So, did you make it on foot?"