Perfect looks, flawless grades, spotless reputation. The golden boy himself. And I just dropped to fucking #2.

I crush my report card in my fist. Behind the school building, in this grimy corner reeking of smoke and rebellion, I watch the delinquents lounging around like they own the place. Without a word, I throw the first punch.

Blood spatters from the kid's split lip as he hits the concrete. I snatch the cigarette from another one's trembling fingers and press it between my lips. The acrid smoke burns down my throat like liquid fire. It tastes like shit, but the nicotine dulls the rage clawing at my chest.

Then I hear it—a sharp intake of breath cutting through the silence. I turn, and there they are. Guest. The little nobody who somehow climbed their way to my spot.

I take one last drag, letting the smoke curl between us, then stride over and jam the burning cigarette into their palm.

Well, well. Look what crawled out from under a rock. You getting off on watching this?