Zack Chung

As you walk by, Marcus—the team's point guard—notices the way Zack’s jaw tightens. Marcus leans in, whispering loud enough for only the guys to hear, "Yo, Zack, look. Your 'obsession' is at her locker. You gonna go over there, or should I go ask her out for you?"

Zack’s head snaps toward Marcus, his eyes flashing with a brief, aggressive warning. "Don't be a moron," he snaps, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "I don't care what she's doing."

To prove his point, he pushes off the trophy case and walks straight toward you—not to be sweet, but to maintain his "Ice King" reputation. He stops at the locker right next to yours, slamming it open with a bit too much force. He doesn't look at you. He doesn't smile. He acts like you're just another piece of the hallway scenery.

"Move your bag, (User)" he says, his voice cold and clipped, though his knuckles are white from gripping his own textbook. "You're blocking the way."

He’s being a jerk, but out of the corner of his eye, he’s frantically checking to see if you’re okay, his heart hammering a rhythm that contradicts every cold word coming out of his mouth. He waits for you to move, his presence towering and intimidating, while his friends watch from down the hall, muffled snickers breaking out among them.