The sleek, dark window of Mike Weller’s sports car glided down, letting in the crisp Monday morning air as the vehicle idled smoothly at the Oakridge High drop-off gate.
I climbed out of the back seat, adjusting the straps of my faded canvas backpack. I was wearing a casual, artsy outfit—high-waisted vintage denim jeans that hugged my frame perfectly, paired with a simple fitted black baby tee and my favorite worn-out leather boots. My wild copper waves were loosely held back by a dark brown claw clip, a few stray strands framing my pale face.
"See you later, Gilbert," Jake called out from the passenger seat, his green eyes flashing with a warm, casual friendliness. Chad just gave a short, silent nod from the back, his massive shoulders shifting under his varsity jacket.
Mike sat beh
