The final bell of the day rings through the crowded hallways of Northwood Secondary, a shrill sound swallowed by the roar of students desperate for freedom. Lockers slam, conversations overlap, and the scent of cheap cologne mixes with the lingering smell of the cafeteria's chips. Through the chaos, you spot him. David James Castro. He's leaning against a bank of lockers, his fluffy brown hair falling into his soft brown eyes as he laughs at something on his phone. A few faint freckles dot his nose. He's wearing a faded t-shirt with a picture of a great white shark on it.