The hallway was a river of bodies, and Jake was the current that made them move.
His sneakers slapped against the waxed linoleum, rhythm sharp and loud like a snare drum. Every head turned when he walked in. That was the rule here.
Central High didn't have kings or crowns, but if it did, Jake would've worn both and laughed at how heavy they were.
Lockers slammed like gunshots on both sides. Girls leaned into their friends, giggling too loud, their eyes sliding toward him when they thought he wasn't looking. A group of freshman huddled near the trophy case, parted so fast one kid dropped his binder, papers spilling like broken glass. Jake didn't slow down. He never did.
"Yo, Jake!"
Tyler's voice cut through the noise as he fell in step with him. Tyler—wide smile, baseball cap turned backward, always two steps behind because he liked being a shadow. Marco joined a second later, chewing gum like it owed him money.
"You see Coach's face last night?" Tyler laughed, slapping Jake on the back. "Man was ready to crown you MVP on the damn spot."
Jake smirked. "What can I say? I deliver."
And he did. Thirty-two points in the season opener. Whole gym chanting his name like a war cry. That's what power felt like. That's what control was. Not the weak, quiet bullshit people fed themselves.
"Bet the cheer squad's still talking about it," Marco said with that greasy grin.
Jake shot him a look. "They're always talking about me." that's how it always was with Jake in central high. he's the god of the school, at least that's what he considers himself to be.
Tyler laughed. That was the thing about his crew—they knew their roles. Hype men, loyal soldiers. Jake? He was the general. The shot caller.
They turned the corner moving into the laboratory leaving the hallway behind,
just as some freshman stooped to grab his papers. Jake's foot caught the edge of one, and he turned and flicked it down the hallway with a kick that sent it skidding under a locker row.
"Oops." His grin was pure teeth.
The kid looked up, wide-eyed, stammering. "I—I—"
Jake leaned down, voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Move faster next time."and that's how it is with Jake, picking on target he deemed easy, and making their lives miserable.
The hallway laughed for him. It always did. Fear was contagious, and he was the carrier.
But then.....
A shape slid into his path.
Hood up. Shoulders hunched. Moving like a shadow that forgot how to blend. Jake almost brushed past without noticing, but something.....maybe the stillness, maybe the weight of a stare that felt too direct—made him stop.
The kid wasn't part of any crowd. No letterman jacket. No jersey. No pack. Just dark jeans, old sneakers, and a hoodie so black it ate the light. His head tilted up slow, and Jake saw his face for the first time, skin pale under the buzzing fluorescent lights, eyes black like spilled ink, expression flat enough to feel wrong.
Jake shoulder-checked him hard. A test.
Nothing. Not even a flinch. The kid's gaze didn't break, didn't dart away like everyone else's. It stayed locked on Jake like it was pinning something sharp behind his ribs.
Then the kid spoke. Calm. Measured. A voice that sounded like it crawled out of a basement and learned to whisper.
"Careful," he said. "The floor's slippery when you're falling."
Jake blinked. "What?"
But the kid was already moving, slipping past with that same quiet, ghost-thing walk.
Tyler snorted. "What the hell was that?"
Jake shook it off, forcing a laugh. "Some weirdo. Ignore him."
But the words stuck like gum under his shoe.
during lunch time...
The cafeteria roared like a feeding pit. Jake owned the center table—prime real estate near the vending machines, back against the wall so no one could creep up behind him. Cheerleaders clustered like petals on his left, his boys on the right. Jake sat with his legs stretched wide, voice loud enough to drown out the white noise of gossip and chewing.
"…dude tried to dunk on me last night," Jake said, grinning through a mouthful of fries. "I sent his ass back to JV."
Laughter exploded around him. The kind that said you're untouchable. The kind Jake lived for.
But between bites and jokes, his eyes slid across the room.
To him.
Far table. Alone. Tray untouched. Hoodie still up even though lunch monitors hated that. One elbow on the table, other hand moving slow—scratching something into a napkin with a cheap black pen. Circles. Lines. Shapes that looked like they belonged in a cult's diary.
Tyler followed his gaze and snorted. "Dude. Look at Psycho over there."
Marco smirked. "Bet he's writing a hit list."
Jake grinned. Loud enough for the cheerleader on his lap to hear, he said, "Better make me number one. Give him something to dream about."
Laughter erupted, But the kid—Ethan, someone whispered his name once—just lifted his head and looked at Jake.
No glare. No scowl. Just this flat, knowing look. Like he'd heard every word and didn't care. Or worse—cared in a way Jake didn't understand yet.
Then the kid smiled. Barely. A flicker. And went back to his drawing.
For some reason, it felt like a warning.
That night, Jake sat on his bed scrolling TikTok with the TV buzzing low in the background. The house was mostly dark. Mom's car gone. Dad's voice booming through the phone in the other room, arguing with someone who wasn't her.
Jake hated nights like this. The silence between arguments was louder than the fights.
He opened Instagram. Notifications blew up from the game highlights, DMs from girls, a couple from fake accounts offering nudes for $10. He scrolled, smirking—until a post stopped him cold.
Username: @solesandshadows.
Profile pic: black circle. Caption under a photo of wolf fangs.
"Ever wonder how heavy someone else's skin feels?"
Jake frowned. Weird. Clicked the username. Private account. Zero posts visible except that one. No followers. No following.
Weirder? He didn't follow this account, but it tagged him.
He laughed it off, tossed the phone aside. Probably some freshman trying to be edgy.
But when he killed the lights and lay back in the dark, the question curled under his skin likea tick.
The next day, the hallway felt different in the morning. Maybe it was the flickering light near the science wing. Maybe it was the way the air smelled faintly like copper and bleach.
Jake spotted him again by the lockers. Same hoodie. Same weightless stance.
As Jake passed, the kid's lips barely moved.
"Hope you like running in my shoes."
Jake turned. "What?"
But the kid was already walking away, steps slow, like he had all the time in the world.
Jake's laugh came late and thin.
He didn't know why his hands felt cold.
He didn't know he was already wearing them.