I sighed, turning to head back to my table to sit with Michael and cry.

Someone grabbed me by my backpack. I heard the squeak of a sharpie against the rough fabric of my bag. Rich Goranksi's voice hissed, "you wash that off, you're dead, nerd!" Before shoving me away.

I stumbled a few steps, regaining my balance. Then I ran as fast as I could to the table to avoid being seen because don't fucking look at me I just want to die in peace.

And, just my luck, I run right into Christine Canigula in my dumbass panic.

She laughed a little. "I think someone wrote 'boyf' on your backpack."

I pulled off my bag, turning it. Sure enough, in big block letters, B-O-Y-F.

"Uh. I uh, um... agh," I choked, running.

So smooth. So chill. So powerful. Cue the applause.

I banged my head on the table.

Michael rolled his eyes. "Dude, chill out. They don't matter in the first place. Two more years till we graduate."

I sighed and looked at my backpack. "Boyf? What does that mean?"

Michael lifted his backpack up next to mine. R-I-E-N-D-S was scribbled across it.

Boyf riends. Boyfriends.

"I hate this school," I groaned, putting my head down.