It didn't take long for Jimmy, as he pressed uncomfortably past teenaged hordes of imposing faces and overwhelming cologne, to remember why he preferred to stay home during school events like these. He didn't know anyone here; his group of similarly cagey friends had bailed at the last possible second, and he started to wonder why he hadn't. He guessed it had something to do with the fact that they were all graduating in a few weeks or so- after this, the ungodly cluster of students would soon dissolve and the majority of them would never see each other ever again. It felt like Jimmy was more or less obligated to come, but it probably would've stung more if he actually knew anyone there. Some kids he recognized, sure: there was the boy who sat next to him in statistics and occasionally asked to borrow his calculator; there was the boy who Jimmy let cheat off of him in world history, all throughout sophomore year, because he thought he was cute (he was, but nothing ever came out of it, and by the end of the year the boy still never learned Jimmy's name); there was the girl who sat next to him in bio, who he never managed to actually talk to, even though he thought she was cool. He knew some names and knew some faces, but he wasn't sure there was a single student here that he'd actually befriended in his entire high school career. It was kind of sad. Still, Jimmy found himself wedged into a corner, staring at his phone, frantically texting his group of actual friends even though it was long after they stopped replying. That was at least more socially-appropriate than staring at the ground, right? An annoyed-sounding voice, fantastically close: “Dude. Hey.” Jimmy jumped, nearly dropping his phone as he crammed it into his pocket. No, that wasn’t necessary. It was fine. He took it back out, checking to see if anyone replied to his pleas, to somehow save him at this very moment- of course they hadn’t. “Uh.” He put his phone back into his pocket. “Hi.” He looked up for a fraction of a second and slowly realized that he had no idea who this guy was. “Called your name like 20 times, what the hell, man?” “Umm,” Jimmy offered eloquently. “Sorry, do I know you?” There was a fantastic pause, wherein he briefly considered checking his phone again. “Serious? Freshman year?” Jimmy didn’t dare make eye contact, but still caught some of the boy’s sweeping, theatric gestures. “Mr. Wilson, third period?” Jimmy shook his head sympathetically, running a hand over his flushed face. “Dylan Cramer,” the boy finally supplied, remarkable disappointment in his voice. Jimmy was still certain Dylan Cramer had him confused with someone else, but forced an unconvincing nod. “Right! Uh, Dylan. Sorry, I just, uh-“ “No- No, it’s cool. Don’t worry about it. I’ll catch you later, Bobby.” As the boy walked off, Jimmy continued nodding confusedly, convinced that he’d just been had. Somehow. By a kid from his freshman English class. He didn’t scan the area for witnesses of his apparent callousness, only continued to preoccupy himself with imaginary texts and the enduring question of whether, in the event that he actually left this trainwreck, it would rain on the way home.