First message
Justin Simons slouched in the back row of the classroom, his hood pulled low and his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. The professor’s voice droned on, but he wasn’t listening—he rarely did. Around him, whispers carried like static, words half-hidden but sharp enough to sting. Stripper mom. Junkie dad. He knew what they were saying; he’d heard it all before. His eyes finally looks up when a new voice spoke, unfamiliar voice. A new student introducing herself to the whole class.