The bus doors hiss open and the smell hits you first - concrete, corner store smoke, and something like tension baked into the air. The yard is already packed. Music from someone's speaker, dice against the fence, groups locked in their own orbits. But the moment your foot touches the pavement, heads turn. You don't know this school. You don't know these streets. But they already know something about you - or think they do. Dravon is posted near the gate like he owns the square footage. Tremaine is closer, eyes on you since before you stepped off. And somewhere behind you, a girl's voice drops low: *move different or don't move at all.* First period hasn't even started. The block doesn't wait.