Rumors had it, Oliver was a total thug. Friends with delinquents of other schools, who repeated their last year for the third time in a row, and somehow managed to continue on failing.

More than once, the whispered gossip had spread throughout the entire school: of Oliver smoking behind the school’s gym, hidden away from teachers and classmates alike, together with those horrifying outlaw friends he had. 

Behind that very gym, the meeting spot for those everyone wished to avoid at all costs, Oliver would beat up whomever dared to look at him for longer than a second.

In the rumors traveling through school at rapid speed, he bullied and tormented the weaker kids, picking them off one by one until they didn’t dare to attend class any longer. 

A total nut-case, that boy was. So many times, he’d been suspended; each and every time for violence, for skipping class, and once, even, for punching one of his teachers right in the face. But every time, only a few days passed, and Oliver returned back to school grounds. 

Rumors of rich parents began to spread, killing each and every trouble their son raised with freshly-printed, colorful stacks of money too thick to count. They did anything to protect their troublemaker son, or so, everyone thought. 

Things turned confusing when for once, his parents didn’t save him from the consequences of his own actions. Everyone avoided Oliver, and no one really cared about what he did, and what he was up to. He was supposed to graduate, after all, that very year, his worst, most tormenting year yet. 

A sigh of relief traveled through school every time we all remembered. Everyone looked forward to the calmer days, where no one would have to worry about Oliver’s sudden outbursts of violence.

Until, of course, everything changed for the worse when my classmates realized, too suddenly and in a horrid discovery sitting within the classroom, that Oliver had failed his last year, and now sat in our peaceful classroom where everyone talked with everyone, where everyone was friends with everyone. 

"Ha..." My best friend Matt sighed. "He seriously failed? And now he's here? He'll make this year a living hell."

Stumped, I halted in the midst of the doorway, a shadow cast throughout the classroom. I, myself, could barely believe my own eyes when I saw him sit there, in the third row of the classroom, right by the window. It was my usual spot, where I loved to sit, enjoy the view out the window, and the fresh air on hot days. 

"They never told us we were getting a new classmate," I mumbled.

Matt grumbled, scratching the back of his head. "Well, it's no surprise when it's him. I'm sure the teachers wanted him gone just as much as everyone else."

Summer break had just ended, my final year of high school was just beginning, and now … This. 

Somehow, I’d never seen Oliver myself. I knew him only from his rumors and horrible reputation, and as much as I hated to judge people based on things I heard from others, I had had a certain image of him in my head. One he didn’t quite fit, at all, but at the same time … totally did. Based on everyone’s whispers, and how they avoided that third row like the plague, he couldn’t have been anyone but Oliver. 

My fingers clenched around my backpacks halter at my shoulder, a nervous gulp to follow right after. 

Only barely did my best friend’s voice reach me, as I was hypnotized somehow, staring at the thug across the room. 

“Come on, Finn, let’s sit over there, in the back.” Matt practically tried to drag me with him, but my body refused to budge. 

“Give me a minute,” I mumbled. 

Already, Matt observed me with a ghastly expression, his fingers tugging at my shirt’s sleeve as if to pull me back. Why did I approach him? 

I had no idea. I wasn’t someone to ask for conflict, to walk right towards it, and Oliver was the raw embodiment of conflict and trouble. But I couldn’t stop myself, and my feet dragged me forward, all the while observing him with curious eyes. 

Oliver had his arms crossed atop the table, hugging his pencil case. His face was hidden, sunken deep into his sporadically created pillow. With a gulp, I noticed the black shirt he wore, and how tight it was, his bicep bursting through even in such a relaxed position. He wasn’t asleep, though, that much I knew. Every now and then, his head would turn towards the window, and half-closed eyes stared out into the yard, almost melancholic. 

“Hi.” The words slithered out of my mouth too quickly, and before I knew it, there was no turning back. When Oliver realized he was being talked to, his head wandered towards me in slow motion, hidden behind his forearms. His eyes flickered up at me, almost forcing a flinch out of my body with their intense darkness, and the frown his eyebrows carried. His short hair, just as dark as his eyes, was uncombed and messy atop his head, and his face … 

It was pleasing to look at, with its sharp edges, and the strong jaw and even those eyes that pierced right through me. If it wasn’t for the angry wrinkles he forced onto his skin, he would have been incredibly handsome. 

“Oliver, right?” 

No response, only a stare, and an awkward chuckle fell out of my mouth. Scratching the back of my head, I wasn’t sure how to proceed; there had been no plan, no idea as to what I was doing, and to be so blatantly acknowledged and ignored at the same time was incredibly awkward. 

“I’m Finn,” I decided to introduce myself with a smile, but once again, he said nothing, and only looked at me, his eyes twitching up and down as he observed me. 

I should have stopped right then and there — my endeavor of wanting to make him feel welcomed in our class, for whatever reason, was clearly a waste of time. And yet, as I stared at his eyes, I couldn’t do anything. An odd sensation overcame me, the wish to rid his face of those hostile wrinkles. 

“Can I sit next to you?” 

“Finn! Are you crazy?!” It came in a rather loud, squeaking whistle from my best friend Matt, but I ignored him, didn’t even turn. Oliver and I gazed at each other, when, finally, he had something to say. Though it wasn’t much, hearing his deep, raspy voice for the first time forced goosebumps onto my skin. 

“What?” 

“I’d like to sit near the window, if that’s okay. I like the fresh air, that’s all. But, um, if—if you’re not comfortable—“

“Tsk.” Oliver clicked his tongue, interrupting my pleads, and before I knew it, he had turned his head away from me, stared back out the window, and mumbled: “Whatever.” 

My smile grew all the larger. “Awesome, thanks,” I said, dropping my back next to our desk in the same motion, only to drop myself onto the free seat beside Oliver. By then, however, he’d long begun to ignore my existence.