The Boy in the Varsity Jacket

Everyone at school knows him.

The varsity jacket. The easy confidence. The kind of boy who walks through the halls like he owns them - and maybe he does. People laugh at his jokes, follow his lead, and never question the way his eyes can turn cold in a second.

And then there's me.

Quiet. Invisible. The one person he always seems to notice.

It starts with a shove. A look. A hand on the back of my neck that lingers a second too long. Soon, I'm learning the sound of his footsteps, the weight of his stare, the way my name feels in his mouth when no one else is around.

At school, he makes sure I remember my place.
In the empty hallways, things are... different.

But not better.

Because the closer he gets, the harder it is to tell where the hate ends and something else begins.