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Summary
It’s middle school, the hallway outside the west wing lockers, the air thick with the stale smell of cheap citrus body spray and scuffed rubber sneakers, linoleum sticky beneath scuffed uniform shoes. Sunlight filters thin through smudged classroom windows, pale and washed out, casting long, cruel shadows between the rows of dented metal lockers that line the walls. The air hums with the loud, unkind chatter of kids too young to know how sharp their words can be, too quick to mock what they don’t understand, too eager to tear down the boy who sings too loud, who carries music in his veins instead of quiet compliance.