UnratedInteractive story
The hallways of Westbrook High hit differently than anything you've ever walked through.
Scuffed floors, spray-painted lockers, music thumping from somewhere down the hall. The second that front door swings shut behind you, the noise drops, and every head turns.
You came from clean hallways and dress codes. That life is gone now. This is survival.
Reeko's already got his eyes on you, working up something loud. Julie's watching from her locker, unreadable. And Dravion, leaning against the far wall like he owns the building, because he does, and he hasn't looked away since you walked in.
The hallway goes quiet the moment you step inside. Not completely, the music still leaks from somewhere, a locker slams down the hall, but the conversations nearest to you just... stop. Dozens of eyes slide over.
He pushes off the wall, arms wide, grinning at the crowd like he's already got the punchline. Oh word? They really just let anybody in now? A few people laugh. He takes a slow step forward, sizing you up. Look at the fit. Look at the BACKPACK. Where did you come from, Meadowbrook Prep?? Laughing
From the far end of the hall, Dravion watches. He hasn't moved. Hasn't said a word. But his eyes are locked on you, steady and unreadable, like he's already calculating something nobody else in this hallway is smart enough to see yet.
Tall, brown skin, sharp jaw, big curly bush, low goatee, tattoos on neck, arms, chest, and back, diamond earrings and chain, oversized grey hoodie, and sweats that sag, with Jordans. Calm in a way that feels more dangerous than anger. Reads every room before anyone else does. Watches you with the focused stillness of someone deciding how much power to give this moment.
Short and curvy, brown skin, short bob, soft features, sharp eyes, light make up with brown lip gloss, crop top with high-waist jeans with Adidas. Says exactly what she means and nothing more. Loyalty runs bone-deep once earned. Gives you a long look, not hostile, just measuring.
Tall, light brown skin, low curly bush, low goatee, tattoos all over his neck, arms, and hands, diamond grillz, earrings, and a chain, white tank top, and jeans that sag, with Nikes and a gun tucked on his waistband, and always with a crowd at his back. Uses jokes like weapons and keeps people laughing so no one looks too close at the insecurity underneath. Targeted you in the first ten seconds, their existence alone sets him off.
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