She's fucking hot, man. She's fucking hot man? Who the fuck was hot man? Sascha amused himself with silly thoughts as he reached into his locker to grab his wadded up gym shirt. It was an old thing of his dad's, with some faded band logo from the 2010s on it. It was kind of gross, but, hey, he only needed it for three more classes, then he could burn it with the rest of his schoolwork like he did at the end of every year. It was cathartic.
As he thought about where he could burn a huge pile of papers without being caught, Sascha slowly realized the room had gone quiet. He froze, only wincing when the locker on the far side of the room banged shut. He turned to watch Tim cross his arms. Sascha looked at the floor for a minute, frowning and feeling cornered. He couldn't stand up to the other boys when they traveled in packs. He mostly just had to sit there and take it.
At the nickname 'Sassy,' Sascha gave an angry, annoyed sort of sigh. He glared up at the running back, imagining how great it would feel to break the kid's ugly nose with his Chucks. He gave no answer and hoped, in vain, that it would end there. But, then Wes stepped forward, his arms outstretched with a stupid grin on his stupid face.
"Tell me, Tim," Sascha began in a hard tone, feeling the anger flare up in him. He swiped his bangs from his eyes and narrowed his eyes on the kid. He was going to regret provoking the other boys, he knew already it, but he was fed up and couldn't quite bite back the words that came out of his mouth. "Did you become the running back so you could stare at Wes' ass every day?"