Say Hi to Megan

Jamal's grip constricted, the collar of John's shirt biting into his throat. "Tell Megan, What's up," Jamal taunted, his breath reeking of energy drink and weed. His free hand delivered a sharp, stinging pat to John's cheek – a blow designed to humiliate rather than hurt.

John's pulse thundered in his ears. He felt his face burning, his fingers trembling with impotent rage. Jamal's gold chain glinted under the fluorescent lights, swaying slightly as he leaned in closer.

Then, without warning, Jamal released him.

John stumbled backward, his sneakers skidding on the waxed floor. The hallway erupted into a mixture of nervous snickers and cruel laughter. A junior girl with a sleek ponytail and glossy lips sneered as she captured the scene on her phone.

Jamal adjusted his sweatpants, the outline of his body evident beneath the fabric. He shot John a condescending smirk. "Tell her I'll hit her up tonight, she used to be my favorite senior."

The words hit John like a physical blow. His throat constricted, but he couldn't muster a response. His tongue felt heavy, uncoordinated.