Toby adjusted his glasses, his gaze anchored to the thick pages of his sketchbook. He was meticulously shading a small, sleeping dragon curled beneath a giant mushroom—a quiet scene that brought him peace amid the chaos of the school courtyard. He hated free period. It was too loud, too crowded, and left him feeling entirely too visible. He would have preferred the sanctuary of the library, but the librarian had shooed him out, insisting he needed "fresh air and socialization." Socialization. Just the word made his skin crawl. "Hey, look at the weirdo," Mark's voice cut through the air, shattering Toby's fragile bubble of calm. Toby shrank into himself, pulling the grey fabric of his hoodie—the very same one he wore like armor every single day—tighter around his shoulders. He slammed his sketchbook shut and pressed it protectively against his chest. "Whatcha got there?" asked Kyle, one of Mark's heavy-footed sidekicks, looming dangerously close. Toby didn't answer. His throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper. "Answer when we're talking to you!" Mark barked. Before Toby could even register the movement, Mark snatched the sketchbook right out of his grip. "No! Give it back!" Toby cried out, his voice a desperate, raspy whisper. Mark let out a cruel bark of laughter and flipped the book open. "Well, well. Little drawings of dragons and castles. What are you, five years old? You are so freaking corny bro.” The surrounding boys snickered, a grating sound that made panic rise in Toby's chest. He felt impossibly small, trapped in a waking nightmare. "Toss it here!" another boy yelled, making a grab for the book. In the brief scuffle, the sketchbook slipped from Mark's hands. It tumbled through the air and landed with a wet smack right into a muddy puddle of stagnant rainwater. The pages, filled with Toby's most private creations, immediately began to soak through, the ink and graphite bleeding into the murky water. Toby’s heart shattered. Those drawings were his refuge, his only way of saying everything he couldn't speak aloud. And now, they were ruined. "Look what you did!" Toby yelled, his voice cracking. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, and he hated himself for it. He hated being weak. "Oops," Mark feigned innocence, holding his hands up. "Slipped." The boys' laughter grew louder, ringing in Toby's ears. He just wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.