Students were starting to pour into the sprawling campus of St. Dominic High School. Rick parked his worn-out bicycle and secured the lock, then pushed his way through the crowd. He glanced around and spotted Tristan, already standing near the entrance. Tristan always seemed to get here before anyone else, as if he had the place on his schedule from dawn. He greeted Rick with a simple nod before returning to his own thoughts, deep in contemplation. Rick noticed Tristan's preoccupied expression and wondered if he should bring up what had happened last night at the convenience store. But he knew his friend well enough to sense when he wasn't in the mood for small talk. So, instead of saying anything, Rick kept quiet and grabbed a bottle of water from the nearby canteen, deciding to focus on something else.
As Rick made his way back, his eyes briefly scanned the school grounds, familiar yet unfamiliar. The sprawling campus, with its grand buildings surrounded by towering trees and lush gardens, was an environment where wealth and privilege seemed to thrive. But Rick wasn't one of them. He didn't come from money, didn't have parents to drop him off in luxury cars or with entourages. He parked his bicycle near the edge of the field and adjusted his bag on his shoulder, heading back inside.
It was then that he saw Troy—standing casually near the canteen, sipping from a water bottle. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment. Troy recognized him. Rick could see it in the way his gaze sharpened before returning to indifference. But neither of them acknowledged the other. Troy's focus seemed to be elsewhere, as if he hadn't noticed Rick at all.
Rick continued toward his locker, brushing the encounter off. He had more important things to focus on—like school, and his commitments. Despite his packed schedule, Rick still found time for extracurricular activities. Surprisingly, he was a member of the swimming team. It wasn't just for fun—it was another way to earn a little allowance from the school, granted because he was part of the team.
In the locker room, he saw Kevin, one of the older students, already changing out of his practice gear. Kevin was tall, confident, and known as one of the best swimmers in the school. He caught sight of Rick and approached him, a teasing smile on his face.
"Hey, kid," Kevin said, clapping Rick on the shoulder. "You're doing good. Soon, you'll be leading this team."
Rick shook his head. "I'm not interested in being captain, Kevin."
Kevin chuckled. "Come on. You're the hardest worker here. If you keep it up, you'll get a scholarship in college. Don't waste it."
Rick gave a faint smile but didn't reply. He had his own reasons for being here, and swimming wasn't just about the future—it was also a chance to prove something to himself. Not to mention, it kept him in shape for everything else life threw at him.
Meanwhile, in the cafeteria, Tristan sat alone at an empty table, his nose buried in a book. He didn't seem to care much about his surroundings. He was lost in the pages of How Misfits Fit, his favorite read—a book that had always resonated with him, a guide to navigating life when you didn't quite fit in.
A voice broke through his concentration, soft but curious.
"Interesting book," a girl's voice said.
Tristan glanced up to see a girl—morena, average in appearance, standing awkwardly near his table. She had a shy smile on her face, but her voice was hesitant. She introduced herself as Fey.
Tristan offered a polite smile but didn't say much, unsure how to respond.
Fey tried to strike up conversation, extending an olive branch. "What made you pick up this book?"
Tristan sighed and looked away, shifting uncomfortably. His eyes wandered to another table filled with other students, all laughing and chatting. He didn't want to waste energy engaging in idle conversation.
"Don't you have something better to do?" Tristan muttered, his voice cool and dismissive.
Fey blinked, taken aback, her expression falling. Embarrassed, she gathered her courage to reply. "Sorry... I didn't mean to bother you." She slowly got up and left, leaving Tristan alone once again.
Rick and Tristan crossed paths again after their last class. They walked together for a few steps, chatting quietly, when suddenly a sleek car pulled up. It was Tristan's ride. The door swung open, and a neatly dressed man stepped out, signaling for Tristan to join him.
"Catch you later," Tristan said, giving Rick a wave.
Rick nodded and continued toward his bicycle, but just as he was about to pedal off, he almost collided with Troy, who had appeared out of nowhere on the street.
Troy barely seemed to notice Rick, his expression unreadable. This time, he wasn't cocky or arrogant. He just stood there, unbothered. Rick tightened his grip on the handlebars, anger bubbling beneath the surface.
"Watch where you're going," Rick muttered, stopping short.
Troy didn't reply. He looked at Rick briefly, then attempted to brush past him.
"Hey," Rick called out. Troy turned slowly, his eyes meeting Rick's. There was a brief pause before Rick said, "You remember me, don't you?"
Troy's expression didn't change, but his gaze flickered slightly. Without a word, he started walking away.
Annoyed, Rick followed after him. "Troy!"
Troy finally stopped and turned to face him. He crossed his arms, his posture relaxed but guarded. "What do you want?"
Rick studied him—Troy looked different from the football player he had seen earlier. No arrogance, no loud laughter. Just... quiet.
"You skipped practice today," Rick noted, the words slipping out before he could stop himself.
Troy looked at him, his face unreadable. "Mind your own business."
For a moment, neither spoke. Rick didn't want to push any further, so he decided to end the conversation with a quip. "Watch out on the field. You might hit someone by accident."
A small smirk tugged at Troy's lips, and for the first time, they shared a brief, reluctant smile. Then Troy turned and walked away, leaving Rick to shake his head.
That night, Rick returned home, the house already dark and quiet. His grandparents had gone to bed early, and the only sound was the faint hum of the wind outside. He walked slowly to his room, his mind still on what had happened earlier.
As he entered his attic room, he was greeted by the usual silence. He began freshening up, stripping off his school uniform and hanging it neatly by his bed. Once done, he lay down, staring up at the ceiling.
But something made him get up again. He crossed the room to a small wooden drawer by the window. He opened it, pulling out an old, worn box. Inside were photographs—one in particular caught his eye. A faded picture of a woman, holding a child in a dress, and a man beside her, wearing a well-tailored suit.
Rick traced his fingers over the image, his expression softening. He whispered to himself, almost in disbelief, "Look for me... all the time."