SPENCER GERALD

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I turned around, staring into my locker. I wasn't sure if I wanted to look up. I was on the wrestling team, which was a good idea when everyone didn't hate me. Now, it was paying the school to have freshmen and sophomores beat me up. I sighed and slammed the locker shut after retrieving my mouth guard.

Two hours later, my lifelong best friend, Alan Martinez, stumbled alongside me in the hallway on my way out. His band instrument case slapped against his leg. "How was wrestling?" "They kicked my ass, what did you think, Alan?" "Bitter," Alan pointed out. "Sorry," I said genuinely. I never meant to be bitter after wrestling, because I used to be that bitter all the time, though now that everyone hated me, I tried to be nicer and happier. "I get it, dude." "Thanks."