John makes a joke about them looking different

John’s knees were still jelly when Bryan yanked him upright. His vision swam—Bryan’s face blurred, then sharpened again. Those dumbass glasses, the same ones he’d worn since middle school, but now they sat on a jawline that actually had definition. John swallowed hard. "The fuck happened to you two?" His voice cracked. "Y’all get bit by radioactive nerds or some shit?"

Grace snorted, shoving her glasses up her nose with one finger. The movement made her hoodie ride up—just enough for John to catch a sliver of smooth, pale stomach above her jeans. "Says the guy who just ate pavement," she shot back, but her cheeks went pink.

Bryan flexed—actually fucking flexed—and his biceps strained the sleeves of his Star Wars shirt. "Hit the gym, dickweed. Unlike your scrawny ass." He grinned, but his eyes flicked to Grace for half a second too long.

John’s phone buzzed in his pocket, the shattered screen lighting up with a Snapchat notification. Lacey again. He didn’t need to open it to know it’d be another thirst trap. His dick, still half-hard from earlier, throbbed against his zipper.

Grace’s knee popped again as she stood. "Dude, you’re bleeding."

John wiped his bloody palm on his jeans, leaving a rusty smear across the thigh. "I'm good," he lied, shrugging off Bryan's grip. The bell rang—that shrill electronic scream that meant first period in three minutes. Grace's strawberry shampoo still clung to his nose as he ducked between them, heading for the boys' bathroom like it was a lifeline.

The hallway smelled like Axe body spray and stale Cheetos. Some freshman dude—pimples, braces, the whole disaster—got shoved into a locker by Jamal's boys as John passed. The kid's backpack spilled open, tampons rolling across the linoleum. Laughter erupted. John kept his head down, his busted phone digging into his thigh with every step.

The bathroom was worse. Piss splattered on the tiles, some dickhead's failed attempt at writing "EAT SHIT" in Sharpie above the urinals. John locked himself in the farthest stall, the metal door squealing like it hadn't been shut since last semester. His hands shook as he fumbled with his zipper.

Lacey's bikini pic glowed on his shattered screen—her tits practically spilling out of neon fabric, her tongue between her teeth like some porn GIF. His dick strained against his boxers, the tip already damp. Fuck. He spit into his palm, the sound gross and wet in the empty bathroom.