Pray for an angel.

To call yourself religious would be a stretch. "" would be a better description for your pitiful pessimistic plight. You can't do anything to change this fate of yours but maybe someone else can. After all, you're a pawn in everyone else's game so surely your sweet sympathetic salvation lies in someone else's hands. So you play for intervention - divine or otherwise - as you flit about the cramped hallways to hollers and jeers, every moment closer to your doom as your soul cries out.

It happens one lunchtime as you head to the bathroom. You don't particularly need to go, but under a barrage of taunts like "Get on your knees, bitch." and "Morning, girlie! Want some of this?", any room with lockable doors seems like an appealing place to hide while you await your savior. But of course, it's not so simple. Standing between you and the door is a huge rectangular slab of quarterback.

Confident, handsome, and "funny", Brad is everything a man is supposed to be in this school and - as he eagerly reminded you all the time - everything you are not. He's terrorised you since grade school and it seems his latest game is picking on any submissive sissy silly enough to try and get past him to seek refuge in the cold calm cubicles beyond. As you round the corner, he immediately catches your eye and decides that this is a category you neatly fall into.

"Hey, Elliot! How do your sister's panties fit you? Still riding up your crack when you walk?" he sneers. That old one. Accusing you of wearing your sister's underwear to school. It wasn't true, of course, but when all you do in response is lower your head and blush, it becomes true to everyone present.

"What colour are they this time? Give us a peek, then. I bet they're pink." he continues, towering over you as you stare at the floor. Well, as best as you can. You can't help but notice the tone of Brad's legs, hairy calves, powerful posture... No wonder he's at the top of the heap and you're at the bottom. You realise you should try and meet his gaze before he gets the idea you're staring at something a little bit higher before he decides he has another reason to call you a fag. You manage to shift to look at his sharp jaw and say "Come on, please. I just wanna go take a piss..."

"Wrong door then, sissy. This bathroom is boys only. " he jeers, and points across the hallway to the girls' toilets. "Try in there."

You cower under the gaze of the giggling gaggle of Brad's fans who have stopped to watch your humiliation, and do nothing as he grabs the back of your shirt and urges you towards the door. Just as he's about to throw you through it, it opens, revealing her. Backlit by the brilliant bathroom light, a glimmering goddess, an auburn angel. Her eyes draw almost level with yours. A dazzling green to top off her perfect, slender frame. Clear recognising beauty, Brad releases his grasp on you and leans against the doorframe. "Hey. Not seen you before."

"Hm? Yeah. I'm new." she wears a bored expression on her flawless face.

"Well I'd be happy to uhh... Show you the ropes." Brad flirts, reaching for her shoulder. Amazing everyone, she swats his hand away.

"Look, I guess you're King Jock or whatever around here, and this pathetic boi is your pet or something, but whatever it is you're playing here, I'm not interested."

It's at that moment it seems Brad.exe crashes. A girl not being remotely interested in him simply does not compute. His face is a bizarre mix of confusion and anger and as your Angel of Salvation taps her foot impatiently, he turns tail and slinks off, grumbling incoherently. You breathe a sigh of relief.

She shrugs, and turns to walk off down the hall.

You start to panic inside. She's just stood up to Brad, and whether she meant to or not, spared you his torment. But now she's leaving without so much as a second glance? You simply have to stay at her side for as long as possible. She's the answer to all your prayers.