The evening settled in softly around Lincoln High, the sky dimming into a deep blue haze.
It was about 6:00 p.m., and the cafeteria was alive with the clatter of trays, the hum of chatter, and the smell of food.
Brandston and Joel sat at their usual table, a pile of food in front of Joel as always.
Joel was talking plenty, waving his hands in the air animatedly as he laughed about the day's events.
"Bro, today was legendary," Joel said, chomping down a huge bite of his sandwich. "You smoked Allan so bad, man! He looked like he was gonna cry!"
Brandston smiled slightly, stirring his mashed potatoes lazily.
Joel leaned in, a mischievous look flashing in his eyes.
"So... what about the girl you spoke about, huh?" he said, waggling his eyebrows dramatically. "Any lead on her?"
Brandston shrugged awkwardly.
"Erhh... well, I guess I saw her today," he mumbled. "She was... staring at me. When I played."
Joel nearly fell off his chair from excitement.
"WHAT?! Broooo, you got her attention! You gotta go talk to her! Right now! C'mon, don't be a wimp!"
He stood up, pretending to push Brandston toward the door like some kind of personal hype man.
Brandston, as usual, ignored him completely.
Without a word, he grabbed his tray, dumped it, and walked straight out of the cafeteria, leaving Joel standing there, frozen mid-dramatic push.
Joel huffed and sat back down, mumbling to himself.
"Man, pretty boy's got no game."
Time ticked on.
Joel, a lover of food above all else, continued eating alone at the table.
He didn't even realize the cafeteria was mostly empty now — he was too busy FaceTiming his other friend, talking and laughing, while shoveling fries into his mouth like it was a life mission.
The clock above the wall clicked to 6:41 p.m.
Joel was still there, living his best food life.
That's when trouble walked in.
Allan.
Face twisted in rage, fists clenched, Allan stormed into the cafeteria.
He spotted Joel immediately — the lone loudmouth sitting at the far end.
Joel didn't even notice him at first.
Still laughing with his friend on the phone, Joel blurted out loud:
"Man, today was wild! You shoulda seen Allan get smoked like a turkey on Thanksgiving!"
Allan's face darkened.
He marched over.
Joel, finally realizing he had an unwanted audience, hung up the call quickly and looked up.
"Ah... hey, Allan," Joel said with a half-smirk, half-nervous grin. "You here for a snack too? Plenty left, buddy."
Allan didn't smile.
He leaned over the table, voice low and dangerous.
"Listen, punk," he growled, jabbing a finger into Joel's chest. "You go tell that pretty bastard friend of yours to stay out of my way... or else he's gonna get a real piece of me."
Joel blinked once.
Then, true to Joel style, he burst out laughing.
"Dude, you sound like a villain from a bad action movie!" he said, still chuckling. "'Stay outta my way, or else' — c'mon, man, be original!"
Allan's patience snapped.
Without another word, he grabbed Joel by the collar and delivered a few rough punches — nothing too brutal, but enough to leave bruises on Joel's face and a sore lip.
Joel, totally unprepared, yelped and tried to shield himself with a tray, which only made things funnier and sadder at the same time.
By the time Allan was done, Joel slumped back into his chair, groaning in pain.
Allan sneered once more before storming out of the cafeteria, leaving a trail of tension behind him.
Joel limped his way back to the dorms, holding his battered face, whimpering dramatically every few steps.
When he finally reached their room, he found Brandston lying on his bed, casually scrolling through his phone, completely relaxed.
Joel stumbled into the room like a wounded soldier.
"Brand... help... me..." he croaked, dragging his body toward the bed.
Brandston didn't even look up right away.
"What happened this time?" he asked, half-bored, half-concerned.
Joel collapsed on the floor dramatically, pointing at his bruised face.
"It was Allan...! He said... stay out of his way...!" Joel cried, sniffling. "Man, he beat me like I was a pinata at a birthday party!"
Brandston finally looked over, raising an eyebrow.
"Man... seriously?" he said, almost laughing. "You really know how to pick fights you can't win."
Joel kept whining and crawling dramatically on the floor.
"I didn't even pick a fight! I was just... eating! Talking a little trash! But mostly eating!"
Brandston shook his head, chuckling as he got up and went to the small first-aid box they kept by the dresser.
He pulled out some antiseptic wipes and a bandage.
"Come here, drama queen," he said, crouching down.
Joel sat up like an excited puppy.
Brandston started wiping his bruises roughly, making Joel wince and yelp exaggeratedly at every touch.
"Ow! Man, careful! I'm delicate!" Joel cried.
Brandston laughed.
"Delicate? Bro, you're built like a fridge."
Joel huffed and crossed his arms.
"I hope you know... if I die, I'm haunting you."
"Sure you will," Brandston said, slapping a bandage across Joel's forehead like he was patching up a cartoon character.
Joel groaned again, but deep down, he was grateful.
As Brandston finished patching him up, he sat back down on his bed, tossing the first-aid kit aside.
"Mannn," he said, voice low. "This guy... Allan... he really wants to get on my nerves."
Joel nodded, his face still half-wrapped like a mummy.
"Yup. He wants a piece of you, man. And not in a good way."
Brandston leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling.
He wasn't scared.
He wasn't worried.
But something inside him knew — this was just the beginning.