Chapter Text
Senior year was supposed to be a fresh start.
That’s what teachers said. That’s what guidance counselors said. That’s what everyone was talking about.
For Jabber, it was just another year of bad luck.
He’d learned early that life didn’t just hand you lemons — it aimed them at your head.
In middle school, it started small. Snickers when he raised his hand too much. Whispers about how quiet he was. How he dressed like he’d raided the lost and found. How his glasses were always slightly crooked, like even they were tired of sitting on his face.
Then it escalated.
Someone once “accidentally” knocked his books out of his hands in the hallway. Someone else recorded it. By lunch, it was on everyone’s story with a stupid caption and a laughing emoji.
By the end of the week, he was a meme.
He tried changing himself.
He tried talking less.
He tried talking more.
He tried different shoes. Different haircuts. Contact lenses that made his eyes sting so bad he had to pretend he wasn’t crying in class.
It didn’t matter.
Bad luck followed him like a shadow with Wi-Fi.
If there was one open locker door in a crowded hallway, Jabber would walk straight into it.
If a teacher asked a question he actually knew, his voice would crack answering it.
If he almost made it through a week unnoticed, someone would remember he existed.
And then there was freshman year of high school.
The year everything got worse.
High school was louder. Faster. Crueler. People didn’t just bully you to your face anymore — they edited you. Cropped you. Captioned you. Jabber became background noise. The quiet kid in the back corner. The one teachers paired with whoever had the lowest grade because “he’s responsible.” The one who always had notes, always had the homework, always had the answers — but never had anyone sitting next to him by choice.
He didn’t fight back.
Not because he couldn’t.
But because he was tired.
Tired of the whispers.
Tired of being the joke before he even opened his mouth.
Tired of pretending it didn’t hurt when it did.
So he shrank.
Hoodie up. Head down. Earbuds in — even when nothing was playing.
Invisible was safer.
At least… it was supposed to be.
Until Zanka.
Zanka wasn’t just popular. He was gravity.
The kind of guy who walked into a room and bent it around him. Loud laugh. Effortless smirk. That messy, perfectly-styled hair that looked like he’d just rolled out of bed and still somehow made it fashion.
He didn’t try to be noticed.
He just was.
Captain of the soccer team. Party host every other weekend. Teachers either loved him or were exhausted by him. His name was always trending in the school group chat — for something reckless, hilarious, or borderline suspension-worthy.
He lived like consequences were optional.
And somehow, out of eight hundred students at Westbrook High, his orbit collided with Jabber’s.
It happened on a random Tuesday.
Jabber was kneeling on the hallway floor, gathering papers that had spilled from his binder — because of course they had — when a shadow fell over him.
“Yo,” a voice said, amused. “You planning on redecorating the floor?”
Laughter rippled around them.
Jabber didn’t look up.
He didn’t need to.
He already knew that voice.
Zanka.
The golden boy. The chaos starter. The guy who made people nervous and excited at the same time.
Zanka didn’t walk through the halls — he owned them.
Laughter followed him. Phones angled toward him. People moved out of his way without being asked.
At his side was Riyo — glossy hair, perfect lip gloss, uniform skirt tailored just enough to break dress code without getting caught. She looked like she’d stepped out of a Vogue Magazine
Behind them trailed Rudo — headphones around his neck, controller keychain clipped to his bag, always smirking like he knew something everyone else didn’t. The type of guy who’d destroy you in a game and then call you trash without blinking.
They stopped when they saw Jabber on the floor.
Of course they did.
Zanka looked down at him like he’d found something mildly disgusting on his shoe.
“Damn,” he said loudly, nudging one of Jabber’s papers with the tip of his sneaker. “You live down there now?”
Snickers.
Jabber’s ears burned. He kept his head down, gathering papers faster.
Riyo leaned in slightly, tilting her head. “Wait,” she said, fake whispering. “Isn’t this the kid who reminds teachers about homework?”
A few people nearby laughed harder.
Rudo crouched — but not to help. He picked up one of Jabber’s sheets and read it dramatically.
“Advanced calculus?” he scoffed. “Bro’s fighting for his life over numbers.”
Zanka snatched the paper from him.
He scanned it for half a second, then looked at Jabber.
“You actually understand this stuff?” he asked.
Jabber hesitated.
That was his first mistake.
Zanka’s eyes sharpened.
“Ohhh,” he dragged out. “You’re one of those.”
“One of what?” Riyo asked, already smiling because she knew.
“The quiet, thinks-he’s-better-than-us type.”
“I don’t—” Jabber started, voice barely above air.
“Did I ask you to talk?” Zanka cut in smoothly.
The hallway felt smaller.
Zanka crouched down so they were eye level. Up close, he didn’t look friendly. He looked bored. Like tormenting someone was just something to pass the time.
“You know what your problem is?” Zanka said.
Jabber swallowed.
“You walk around like you’re invisible. It’s weird.”
Rudo smirked.
More laughter.
Zanka’s hand shot out suddenly — not hitting him, but flicking his glasses slightly crooked.
“Fix that,” he said casually. “It’s annoying.”
Jabber’s hands trembled as he adjusted them.
Riyo stepped forward, her voice sweet and sharp at the same time. “He looks like he apologizes when someone bumps into him.”
“I do not,” Jabber muttered before he could stop himself.
Silence.
Zanka’s head tilted.
That was the second mistake.
“Oh?” Zanka said quietly.
The quiet was worse than the laughter.
“You got something to say?”
Jabber shook his head immediately.
Zanka stood up slowly, towering over him.
“Didn’t think so.”
He dropped the calculus sheet — but not into Jabber’s hands. Onto the floor.
Then, deliberately, he stepped on it.
Not hard.
Just enough.
“Clean your mess up,” he said. “Hallway’s not your bedroom.”
Rudo snorted. Riyo laughed. The crowd dispersed with satisfied murmurs.
Zanka started walking again like nothing happened.
Then he paused.
Turned back.
Looked directly at Jabber.
And smirked.
“Try not to trip tomorrow,” he said. “It’s embarrassing.”
And just like that, they were gone.
The hallway returned to normal.
But Jabber stayed frozen for a moment longer, staring at the faint shoe print on his paper.
He told himself he hated Zanka.
He told himself this was just another name on the long list of people who thought he was easy.
He told himself it didn’t matter.
But something about the way Zanka looked at him — not amused, not annoyed, but deliberate —
Made his bad luck feel different this time.
Like this wasn’t random.
Like Zanka had chosen him.
And that was worse.