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Downtown Chicago never slept, but Jarad Higgins—better known as Juice WRLD—felt like he was sleepwalking through it. The streets buzzed with life: honking cars, shouting voices, the bass-heavy thump of music spilling from passing windows. Juice trudged along, his bag slung over one shoulder and his headphones over his ears.
Juice stood out, though he'd never admit it. His dark brown skin had a golden undertone that caught the light, and his short, loc-styled hair often framed his sharp yet tired features. He had a quiet presence—reserved, reflective—but his eyes, deep and full of unspoken thoughts, betrayed the poet inside. Today, he wore a graphic hoodie that hung loose on his lanky frame, ripped jeans, and sneakers that had seen better days.
"Juice! Yo, wait up!"
Juice glanced back to see Lil Peep—his best friend and the loudest person in any room—running to catch up.
Peep was impossible to miss. His energy was as loud as his appearance: dyed pink hair that fell over his pale, freckled face, tattoos peeking out from under his collar, and a grin that said he lived for chaos. He wore a patched-up denim jacket and neon sneakers that somehow made sense when he wore them.
"Why you always walking like you got somewhere important to be?" Peep teased, falling in step beside Juice.
"Because I do," Juice replied, not breaking stride. "School."
Peep laughed, tossing an arm over Juice's shoulder. "Man, you need to loosen up. Mondays suck; the world knows it. I got news to make this one better."
Juice raised an eyebrow but kept walking. "What news?"
Peep grinned, his gold tooth glinting in the sunlight. "There's a new kid. Transferred in from Brooklyn. Already got detention for clocking some senior in the jaw."
Juice smirked. "Sounds like he's your type of people."
"You're damn right," Peep said, laughing.
---
The School Halls
The halls of Westside Creative High were a circus. Lockers slammed, sneakers squeaked, and voices echoed off the cracked walls. Juice kept his head down, moving through the chaos.
"Yo, Juice." Peep elbowed him and nodded toward the lockers. Juice followed the gesture and froze. Ally Lotti.
She stood with her friends near her locker, a burst of light in the drab hallway. Her thick curls framed her face, her caramel skin glowing in the fluorescent lighting. She wore high-waisted jeans, a cropped sweater, and those spotless white sneakers that seemed out of place in a school like this.
"She's looking right at you," Peep whispered dramatically.
Juice's pulse quickened. "She's not looking at me."
"She is. I can feel it," Peep insisted. "When you gonna shoot your shot, bro?"
"Never," Juice muttered, picking up his pace. "Not today, not tomorrow, not ever."
Peep laughed. "Man, you need confidence. Look at me—"
"You? You're wearing neon sneakers and a jacket held together by duct tape," Juice shot back.
"And yet, I'm thriving," Peep said, throwing his arms out dramatically.
Juice shook his head, unable to hold back a laugh.
---
The Music Room
By lunch, Juice found himself in his favorite place—the music room. It was small and cluttered with old instruments, but it felt like home. Peep followed, drumming on a desk with his hands as they walked in.
"Late again, gentlemen," came the voice of Mr. Lamar.
Kendrick Lamar, their music teacher, was in his usual spot by the piano. His close-cropped hair and neatly trimmed beard gave him a polished look, but his relaxed posture—sleeves rolled up, tie slightly loosened—made him approachable. His sharp eyes missed nothing.
"Sorry, Mr. Lamar," Juice mumbled, setting his bag down.
"Better late than never," Lamar replied, gesturing for Juice to sit. "Got something for me today?"
Juice hesitated before pulling out his notebook. His voice was quiet as he started, but the words flowed, spilling out like they'd been waiting to be released:
"I can't breathe, I'm waiting for the exhale / Toss my pain with my wishes in a wishing well" (from Syphilis).
The room was silent by the time he finished. Even Peep, usually quick with a joke, stayed quiet for a moment before breaking into applause.
"Dope," Peep said. "You killed it, Juice."
Lamar nodded, his face serious. "You've got something real here, Juice. Don't let it go to waste."
Juice nodded, stuffing the notebook back into his bag. He felt the weight of Lamar's words, but the quiet was quickly filled with his inner turmoil. His voice continued to echo in his mind, much like his lyrics:
"All alone, just me and this bottle / I been feeling so alone, so hollow" (from Syphilis).
---
After School
The walk home was a familiar routine, cutting through alleys and side streets to avoid the main roads. Juice and Peep moved in sync, bantering about anything and everything.
As they rounded a corner, they spotted a group of older boys near a parked car. Juice recognized one of them—Ray, a neighborhood figure known for trouble.
"Yo, Juice!" Ray called out, waving them over.
Juice hesitated. "What does he want?"
"Only one way to find out," Peep said, already walking toward the group.
Ray greeted them with a grin. "What's good, man? You look stressed. I got something to help with that."
He held up a small bag of pills. "First one's free."
Juice's heart raced. His mom's voice echoed in his mind: "Stay away from trouble, Jarad." But his dad's absence hit harder, a hollow ache he couldn't shake.
Juice didn't respond immediately. His mind was flooded with the feeling of being trapped in a cycle:
"I'm addicted to a life that's so toxic / I feel it in my veins, it's making me nauseous" (from Syphilis).
"You good?" Peep asked, sensing Juice's hesitation.
"Yeah," Juice said, shoving the bag into his pocket.
As they walked off, Peep glanced at him. "You sure?"
Juice nodded, but he wasn't.
End of chapter 1.