I rounded the corner of the deserted hallway in the social studies wing, my feet skidding on the dusty floor. I was grateful for my new shoes that allowed me to get some traction once I was back on the straightaway.

What I lacked in brawn I made up for in speed—at least initially. Being a decent sprinter only got me so far though. The people after me were on the cross-country team and they had the stamina that I lacked.

It seemed like they’d been chasing me forever, and I’d been running just as long. The names and faces of the bullies changed, but everything else remained the same. This year the names were Dylan, Caleb, and Dominic.

I was always running, they were always chasing me, and sooner or later, they would catch me.

“Hey, Trissy, where do you think you’re going?” a voice called down the hallway.

“Yeah, Prissy, what’s your hurry? We just want to talk to you,” another voice followed.

Their voices caught up with me before they did, which made perfect sense. Sound travels faster than people, after all. Still, it was only a matter of time before they caught up. Once I reached the old part of the school that housed the math wing, I started to lose speed.

My lungs burned with the sustained effort of keeping ahead of the little mob. Desperate for a chance to catch my breath, I turned sharply and looked for an open classroom in the hopes that my pursuers would run right past me.

I found one. Ms. Nelson, my math teacher, always left her room unlocked.

It was unlocked but unfortunately not empty.

Sitting there with his head resting on the desk was the last person I wanted to run into: Marcos Grayden.

Even doing nothing he looked intimidating, with his tall frame not quite fitting into a student-sized chair. His wavy, chin-length, dark hair hung in front of his face, obscuring his expression. I noticed stupid details, like the fact his skin was about two shades darker than my pasty complexion. The room was a little bit dim, the only light coming in through partially-closed blinds.

I backed up quietly, hoping to escape the notice of this person who was potentially sleeping in the dark classroom. Unfortunately, he looked up slowly, running a hand through his hair. His dark eyes met mine across the room, and I was some stupid animal caught in the headlights.

I froze in place.

Marcos Grayden was the bad boy of East High. Nearly six feet tall and built like a boxer, he was intimidating without even trying. If I could have disappeared through the floor, I would have done so instantly.

“You need something?” Marcos asked. His voice rumbled around in the empty classroom. He sounded like a pack-a-day smoker, but maybe that’s because I’d been stupid enough to wake him from his afternoon nap.

I wanted to become invisible, but it was too late; I had been perceived.

“I . . . I . . .” I didn’t usually stutter, but I couldn’t manage to get any words out.

Marcos turned his head towards me and narrowed his eyes. It was not a reassuring expression.

The sound of footsteps grew louder until they stopped right outside the classroom. When my pursuers opened the door, Marcos’s thick eyebrows drew together.

There they stood: three white boys dressed in cross-country gear, all roughly the same height and build. They weren’t exactly tall, but they were lanky.

Bully number one, brown-haired Dylan, was the first to speak. “Oh. Sorry,” he said in a surprisingly quiet voice. Bullies two and three looked over his shoulders, their eyes wide.

“Yeah. Um. We were looking for . . . someone,” blond-haired Caleb was the next to speak.

“Not here. Okay then,” black-haired Dominic finished up.

They backed away from the door, closing it behind them. Presumably they walked down the hall away from me, and more importantly away from Marcos. This time, their feet were silent.

“Friends of yours?” my frightening companion asked.

I still couldn’t find my voice. I bit my lip and shrugged.

They weren’t my friends. It should have been easy to say that, but I didn’t want to engage with Marcos Grayden even a little bit. I didn’t want to leave any lasting impression on him. It was probably too late for that. I had disturbed him in his sanctuary—whatever he was doing there alone after school.

Even though my voice wasn’t working, I eventually regained control of the rest of my body. I walked slowly out of the room, never turning my back on Marcos.

I lived close enough to the school to walk home, which was both a blessing and a curse. It was nice that I didn’t have to leave right at the end of the school day. I had the flexibility to take tests after school or stay behind for chess club or to take pictures for the yearbook. Unfortunately it also left me open to regular encounters with Dylan, Caleb and Dominic.

Even though they were on the cross-country team, they had plenty of time to make my life miserable. Whether it was before or after practice, they always seemed to find me. Sometimes they chased me down and things got physical.

They would occasionally elbow me in the ribs, punch me in the stomach, or slam me against a locker. Once Dylan had given me a bloody nose and threatened me with worse if I told anyone. Of course I didn’t tell anyone, because what good would that do?

Usually they just walked beside me and spouted homophobic slurs. I wasn’t out, but that didn’t seem to matter. From the time kids in my class knew the word gay—before they even knew what it meant—I had been identified as “the gay kid.”

I was short and skinny with pale skin, dark hair, and dark blue eyes. That wasn’t the problem. There were plenty of smaller than average guys. The biggest problem was I had very feminine features. My face was heart-shaped. I had thin wrists and long, slender fingers. My voice was a clear tenor. I was a walking, talking gay stereotype. It was no wonder I’d been picked on for years.

Happily, I walked back to my house without any further issues. Presumably bullies one, two, and three had finally gone to cross-country practice.

When I got home, my mom was chopping vegetables for harvest stew, one of my favorites.

A strand of light brown hair escaped from her ponytail, and she pushed it back with her forearm. “Welcome home, Tristan.”

“Need some help?”

“I wouldn’t say no to peeling carrots,” she said.

After setting my backpack on a chair in the living room, I washed my hands and started in on the carrots. It wasn’t my favorite task, but it got my mind off the unsettling events of the afternoon.

“Can you babysit the soup? I have to get back to work. Your dad should be home around 5:30.”

My mom worked from home, processing phone referrals for medical assistance. My dad was a social worker at a local clinic.

“Yeah. Sure.”

My mom threw in a handful of fresh herbs and tasted the broth. Once the soup was seasoned to her liking, she went back to her desk.

I retrieved some homework from my backpack and sat at the kitchen table, making sure our dinner didn’t boil over. I had plenty of time to get my work done before my dad got home.

While I was puzzling my way through some math problems, I got a call from my friend Jack. We were founding members of the chess club, which of course made us some of the most popular kids in school.

“Hey, did you arrange for our guest speaker?” he asked.

“What guest speaker?” I asked.

“What guest speaker?” Jack’s voice took on a panicked tone. “Don’t tell me you forgot. The Candidate Master?”

“Oh. That guest speaker. Yeah. It’s all sorted.” I’d arranged to have someone come speak with the chess club about competing beyond high school.

“What’s going on? Trouble with your pals again?” Jack asked.

I paused. “Not really. Well, yes.”

“Which one is it, yes or no?” Jack asked.

“They came after me, but then I had a run-in with Marcos Grayden.”

I could almost see Jack’s eyebrows shooting straight up. “And you lived to tell the tale?”

“I guess I shouldn’t say I had a run-in with him, exactly. He was in a room that I happened to enter while trying to escape Dylan and friends,” I explained.

“How did that go?”

I bit my lip. “It was unsettling. He didn’t say much, but neither did Dylan and his pals. In fact, they seemed every bit as intimidated by him as I was.”

“Interesting. I mean, it makes sense. They might be trouble, but he’s on a whole different level,” Jack said.

“Yeah.” I remembered the feeling of helplessness when our eyes met.

Luckily, I was done with Marcos Grayden. I’d never run into him before. There was no reason to expect I’d see him again.

It wasn’t long before my dad got home from work.

“Smells delicious,” he said when he walked in the door.

“It should be.” I grabbed some rolls from the bread box and put them on a plate. “Do you wanna tell Mom dinner’s ready?”

“Sure thing.”

When we all sat down at the table to eat, my mom said, “How was school today? Did anything interesting happen?”

It was a fairly routine question. I usually tried to have something in mind, but I honestly couldn’t think of anything I wanted to share.

My mind flashed to Marcos Grayden. I helped myself to a roll. “Not really.”