He comes in, earbuds screaming, slouches down against the wall, and proclaims, “I’m hungry!” Digging around in his bag, he reveals a bag of Doritos and with a rustle of ____ (Material of chips bags) adding to the chaos of the noise coming from his earbuds, he rips the bag open and shoves a handful of chips into his mouth. This is his breakfast; this is how he starts his day. He feeds his brain with aggressive hip-hop; he feeds his body with empty calories. Is it any wonder that the row of grades trailing after his name is also empty, a trail of “NHI’s” (Not Handed In) and grades in the twenties, thirties, and forties.

She sits against the wall, her head down, long hair hiding her face. She hasn’t spoken a word since coming onto the hall half an hour ago, and she only looks up with furtive glances that betray a desperate desire to remain invisible, to appear uninterested, to maintain an air of distance.