The night air was crisp and quiet around Lincoln High. The clock on Brandston's desk blinked 9:07 PM, but Joel was already deep in sleep, snoring like a bulldozer.
Brandston stared up at the ceiling from his bed, the words Audrey had thrown at him circling over and over in his mind.
*"It's not like I'm your girlfriend or anything."*
*"Don't think I have feelings for you."*
Each sentence cut deeper than the last.
Every time the memory of Vanessa popped into his head, he felt something new stirring inside him—anger. Real, simmering anger. For the first time, he understood what it felt like when someone started ruining the one thing you cared about.
With a frustrated sigh, he swung his legs off the bed, slipped on a hoodie, and decided to head to the cafeteria for a snack and a bottle of water.
The hallways were dark and empty, just the soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Brandston moved like a shadow through the corridors, lost deep in thought.
He grabbed a bottle of water and a bag of chips from the vending machine and started heading back toward the dorms, the chill of the night seeping into his sleeves.
He didn't even notice Allan and his two friends standing in the middle of the path.
"Hey lover boy," Allan sneered, arms crossed over his chest.
Brandston was so lost in his own head, he didn't even hear him until Allan reached out and tapped his shoulder.
Brandston blinked, snapping out of his daze to find himself face-to-face with Allan.
Allan had two guys behind him, both wearing cocky smirks.
"So," Allan said, stepping closer, "you're getting all the attention now, huh? Everyone's talking about you. Think you're better than the rest of us?"
Brandston just stared at him, expression blank.
Allan's smirk twisted cruelly.
"How about I spoil that pretty face of yours?"
Without waiting for a reply, Allan moved as if to shove him — but Brandston, fueled by all his pent-up frustration, lashed out first.
His fist smashed right into Allan's nose with a loud *CRACK*.
Allan stumbled back, blood gushing from his nose.
"Get him!" Allan barked, holding his face.
His two friends rushed forward. Brandston barely had time to react — one of the guys threw a punch that actually landed, hitting Brandston in the shoulder and making him stumble, dropping his water and snack.
Brandston dropped to one knee, but instead of staying down, he grabbed the water bottle, popped the cap, and took a quick sip.
The second guy lunged at him.
Brandston sprang up, spitting the water full force into the guy's face, stunning him.
Before the guy could wipe his eyes, Brandston slammed a fist right into his gut.
*WHAM!*
The guy doubled over and collapsed to the ground, groaning.
The first guy charged again, thinking he had an opening.
But Brandston dodged easily, sidestepping, and nailed him with a heavy punch to the side of the head. He crumpled onto the pavement next to his friend.
Brandston's breathing was heavy, but his mind was sharp—sharper than ever.
He turned to Allan, fists clenched.
Allan, still holding his bleeding nose, backed up a step, fear flashing in his eyes.
Brandston stepped closer, towering over him.
"Stay out of my way," he said in a low, dangerous voice.
Allan said nothing. He just nodded frantically, stepping back into the shadows with his two downed friends.
Brandston bent down, grabbed his snack and half-empty water bottle, and stalked off toward the dorms.
When he got to his room, he slammed the door so hard it shook the walls.
Joel woke up with a snort, rubbing his eyes.
"Dude… what the hell?" Joel mumbled. Then he squinted at Brandston. "Bro… you look like you just fought a bear."
Brandston dropped onto his bed with a heavy sigh.
"Ran into Allan," he muttered.
Joel's eyes lit up instantly. He sat up straight, excitement buzzing in his voice.
"Wait, wait… you fought Allan? Tell me you decked him, PLEASE tell me you decked him!"
Brandston cracked a small smile. "Broke his nose."
Joel practically fist-pumped the air, whooping.
"YES! FINALLY! Karma, baby! Allan's been a jerk since day one!" Joel cheered, grabbing the first aid kit from under his bed.
He patched up Brandston's scraped knuckles, still rattling on about how this was "legendary" and "they should throw you a parade, bro."
But even as Joel joked and laughed, Brandston's mind was elsewhere.
On a girl with bright eyes.
On words that still hurt more than any punch.
On love slipping through his fingers.
He lay back, staring up at the ceiling again, letting Joel's happy rambling fade into the background.
Eventually, sleep took him.
But even in his dreams, he couldn't outrun her face.