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Chapter 3 - CHAPTER 3: FRIENDSHIP

DAMIEN'S POV

 "Which High school are you finally going to?" Izzie asked, her voice buzzing with curiosity as we walked down the busy street toward the arcade with Jake.

"Definitely not Hillview Academy," I said, trying to hide the unease creeping up my throat.

"Your Dad's still dead-set on it, though," Jake said, skepticism thick in his tone.

"Yeah, but that's not the worst part. I got into CriddleFord," I admitted, bracing for their reaction.

"What the hell?!" they both shouted, voices spiking in unison.

"Letter came three days ago," I muttered, barely audible over the city noise.

"Does your dad know?" Jake asked, more disbelief than question.

"Not yet, but he'll find out eventually, even if I don't tell him," I said, the weight of it pressing down.

"It's a shame you're stuck with that hellhole," Izzie said, her face falling.

"Why the long face, Izz?" I asked as we wove through the street's chaos.

"We're gonna miss you. What about our high school plans?" Her voice dipped, genuinely sad.

"We can still do stuff, just at different schools," I said, forcing some optimism.

"Won't be the same without you," Jake said, his words heavy with finality.

We hit the arcade, laughter cutting through the hum of machines as we reminisced about middle school—the good, the bad, the messy. Those days had been hell sometimes, but with Izzie and Jake, they'd turned into memories I'd miss. Middle school was a paradox for me—best and worst years rolled into one. Antisocial, imagination on overdrive, I'd been a misfit. They'd kept me afloat. 

Inside, we raced to our favorite game, battling for high scores. Hours blurred by, shouts and laughs piling up with our points. Later, we grabbed ice cream and sprawled in the park, watching kids run wild while their parents scrambled. High school plans spilled out between bites.

"I'm stepping up—expanding my social circle," Jake said, determination edging his voice.

"What?!" I whispered, caught off guard.

"Don't act shocked. We were bottom-tier in middle school—nerds, socially awkward. High school's a reset. I'm not staying that guy—it sticks with you, even into college," he said, dead serious.

"Did you rehearse this?" Izzie asked, half-amused, half-stunned.

"Kinda," Jake admitted scratching his head.

"Some speech," I said, laughing. "Thought I was the overthinker."

"You need a plan for things to work," he shot back.

"Wow, Mr. motivational speaker," Izzie teased, high-fiving me as we cracked up. 

"Guess it's speech day. You're channeling Damien now," she added once we settled, her tone playful. "No offense Damien."

"None taken," I said, grinning.

"Okay, enough 'Jake speech debate,'" I said, air-quoting it, sparking another round of laughs.

"Remember that time you ate glue in fifth grade?" Izzie asked Jake, smirking over her ice cream.

"Oh, come on! I thought it was frosting!" Jake groaned, tossing a napkin at her. "You're one to talk—didn't you get stuck in the gym locker?"

"Once! And it was your fault for daring me," she shot back, laughing. "Damien, you were there—back me up!"

"Yeah, but you still climbed in," I said, grinning. "Worst was when I tripped in the cafeteria—spaghetti everywhere. Thought I'd die."

"Legendary," Jake said, cackling. "The whole table screamed."

"Yeah, and you two just pointed and laughed," I said, faking a glare.

"We saved you from the janitor, though," Izzie said, faking a glare.

"Barely—Mr. Grady still hates me," I muttered. "CriddleFord's gonna be worse than that, I bet." 

"Nah, you'll survive. You've got us for moral support," Jake said, nudging me.

"From miles away," I said, half-smiling. "Thanks."

"Shi—crap! I'm late. See you guys!" Jake swore, glancing at his watch, jumping up.

"Time flew," I said, standing with him.

"Don't ditch me!" Izzie yelped, scrambling after us.

We hailed taxis, shouting goodbyes as we split. The day had vanished, school looming just weeks away. I stared out the window, the orange sun sinking as the city blurred by. My mind drifted to CriddleFord—out in the countryside—its uncertainty gnawing at me.

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ALEX POV 

I leaned against the arcade wall, keeping half an eye on my little brother, Jamie, as he mashed buttons on a racing game a few machines down. Seven years old and already a terror—he'd begged me to bring him here. The noise was deafening, but it was Damien who kept pulling my focus. I'd recognized him the second he walked in with his friends—same kid I'd seen every time Desmond Campbell got dropped off at school over the past two years. Always in the car, hood up with his headset on, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Couldn't blame him.

He was awful at Street Fighter, but that laugh—quick, real—cut through the chaos. I'd noticed it before, faint through a car window during those drop-offs, but up close it hit different. They've moved to the park after, ten minutes from the city's edge, and I'd trailed along, Jamie in tow, whining for ice cream. I got him a cone and let him run off with the other kids while I hung back, pretending to scroll my phone. Damien sprawled on the grass with his crew, voice dropping when he said "CriddleFord" like it was a curse. I smirked. Two years as a junior there, and I could tell him it's not as bad as he thinks—close, but you learn to carve out space.

He didn't see me; didn't know I'd clocked him years ago. I'd been home for summer, stuck babysitting, but CriddleFord loomed—back in a few weeks. Watching him slump into that taxi, eyes on the horizon, I wondered what he'd be like out there. Still fighting, like he'd been in the arcade, or frayed already? Two years at that countryside grind—rules, old brick, away from anything—teaches you who bends and who doesn't. That stubborn-soft mix of his? He'd stick out. Couldn't wait to see it up close.

 

 

 

 

 

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