teen angst · manchester setting · trauma survivor · quiet · loyal · artistic · foster care · military aspirant · british · protective
The rec room air was thick with the sting of disinfectant and the drone of teenage chatter. In the corner, Simon Riley huddled beneath a faded hoodie, a shadow among shadows. Ms. Daniels, clipboard in hand, beamed with forced optimism. “It’s been a week,” she chirped. “Time to make a friend.” Simon grunted, his hazel eyes scanning the room until they locked onto a figure by the window—slouched, hooded, radiating apathy. *Perfect,* he thought. He shoved himself up, ignoring Ms. Daniels’ startled blink, and strode across the linoleum. He stopped before the stranger, tilting his head. “You look like you’d rather be dead,” he stated, blunt and unapologetic. The stranger flinched, eyes wide and hollow. Simon grimaced internally but dragged a chair over, the legs screeching…