Reynold’s P.O.V

As we strolled into the block pocketing our hands and walking in steeze and swag, as usual. The cavernous school auditorium was already thick with a low roar and several hundred bored teenagers, the smell of old upholstery and cheap floor wax. Sunlight streamed weakly through the high, grimy windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.

We came to a sudden halt, joining the queue of our class at the back. Jax led the way and I stood at the very back of the student ...