The rumor started before first period, sliding through the crowded hallway of Lincoln High like a text that got forwarded one too many times.

Billy Carter might not be graduating.

On a Wednesday morning in suburban California, with the American flag flapping lazily over the front steps and the Pledge still echoing faintly from homeroom, that rumor tasted better than cafeteria pizza to a lot of kids who’d seen Billy push his way to the front of every line since middle school.

He strutted down the hallway like he owned it–Air Jordans squeaking on the tiled floor, letterman jacket half-zipped, earbuds dangling. People parted for him without thinking. Some because they wanted his attention. Some because they really didn’t.

“Good luck, Mike!” Miss Jacobs called, holding the door open as the bell rang.

“Thank you,” said the tall boy walking in front of Billy. That was Frankie, clutching his graphing calculator like it was worth more than any sneaker in Billy’s closet.

Billy shoulder-checked him just enough to make him stumble.

“Hey, nerd,” Billy said. “Don’t trip.”

Frankie’s notebook flew out of his hands, papers skidding across the classroom floor.

“Why’d you do that?” Frankie’s voice was soft but sharp-edged.

“Because even with four eyes you still can’t see,” Billy said, flicking the corner of Frankie’s glasses with one finger.

The class snickered the way crowds do when someone else is being sacrificed for their entertainment.

“Enough,” Miss Jacobs said, though her voice didn’t have much weight yet. “Everyone to your seats. Settle down. We’re starting.”

It was the last math exam of the year. The one that decided who went into Honors next fall and who repeated Algebra in a stuffy summer-school classroom while their friends lived on TikTok and iced coffee.

Billy slumped into his desk in the back row, staring at the half-crumpled study guide he’d never opened. He looked like a kid who knew the rumor about graduation might be more than rumor.

Miss Jacobs held two stacks of papers, one in each hand.

“Remember,” she said, walking between the rows, “this exam covers everything this semester. Linear equations, quadratic formula, systems of inequalities, all of it. Calculators are allowed. Phones are not.”

She paused at Billy’s desk. “Billy, you know if you don’t pass this exam, you’re not passing this class, right?”

He flashed her a cocky little half-smile. “No pressure.”

Her eyes softened for half a second. “There you go,” she said, setting a test in front of him.

Frankie got his copy a moment later. Their desks were side by side.

Billy leaned over, voice barely a whisper. “Listen. I’m gonna need the answers for this test.”

Frankie stared straight ahead. “No,” he said. “I can’t do that. That would be cheating.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Billy murmured, smile never leaving his face. “If I don’t pass, I don’t graduate. You don’t want that on your conscience, do you?”

Frankie’s fingers tightened around his pencil.

“I just want you to know,” he whispered back, “that if you cheat, you’ll never get ahead.”

Billy smirked. “That sounds like something a nerd would say.”

“Eyes on your own papers,” Miss Jacobs called. “You may begin.”

The classroom fell into the strange hush that only exists during exams: the soft scratch of pencil on paper, the occasional squeak of a desk, the clock ticking louder than it ever did the rest of the day.

Frankie hunched over his test, brain humming. He’d stayed up late the night before, working through practice problems while his mom came in twice to tell him to go to bed.

Billy, on the other hand, stared at the first equation like it was written in a foreign language. He glanced to his right. Frankie’s pencil raced confidently.

Billy tilted his test, making it look like he was double-checking his work, and copied Frankie’s answers line by line, top to bottom. Every bubble Frankie filled, Billy filled the same.

When they were done and the bell rang, Frankie exhaled with relief. Billy swaggered up to Miss Jacobs’s desk like he’d just aced the SAT.

He had no idea that the first landslide had already started.

By last period, the rumor about Billy’s grade had been replaced by a different kind of buzz: tomorrow, the English department’s favorite content creator was visiting the school. For Best Friends’ Day, of all things.

Noah Thompson wished the ground would swallow him long before he heard that news.

He trudged through the hallway clutching a worn hoodie in one hand, the logo on the front cracked from too many washes. The words “So you see…” were printed in curling script across the chest. Half the school knew what that meant. The other half thought it was weird.

Noah belonged to the smaller half.

He slid into his seat in the back of Mrs. Lane’s class as she wheeled in the AV cart, the glow of a paused YouTube video already blazing on the screen.

“Okay, class,” she said cheerfully, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Today we’re watching a short video. I think some of you will recognize this creator.”

“I love this guy,” someone murmured.

“Of course you do,” came a scoff from the other side of the room. Billy. Different class, same smirk. “Only nerds and dorks watch his stuff.”

“They’re not dumb videos,” Noah said quietly before he could stop himself. “They teach… stuff.”

“Important life lessons,” Mrs. Lane finished, giving Billy a look. “Actually, this first one is about bullying. Maybe you could learn a thing or two.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Billy muttered.

Mrs. Lane glanced at the clock. “I’m going to step out for a moment. Tomorrow is Best Friends’ Day, remember. Be ready to present with your best friend and tell us what you want to be when you grow up.”

As soon as the door closed behind her, the room shifted. A different kind of energy slid in—freer, meaner.

“Let’s go play,” someone said, already getting up.

“Should we invite Valley?” another boy joked, mispronouncing a classmate’s name just to be annoying.

Billy turned in his seat. “Hey, Sam,” he called to the kid in the front row. “You got your partner for tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Charlie.”

Billy’s gaze slid to Noah. “What about you, Noah? Got a best friend hiding somewhere under that hoodie?”

Noah’s face warmed. “I… I’m fine.”

“Need a friend?” Billy said, fake sympathy in his voice. “Tell you what, I’ll be your friend.”

Noah’s eyes lit, just for a second. “Really?”

“Psych,” Billy said, snorting. “You really think I’d be your friend? I’d never be friends with a loser like you.”

The word landed like a slap. A few kids laughed. Noah flinched, shrinking into his seat.

He shoved his earbuds in and hit play on a video he’d saved, anything to drown out the buzzing sting in his ears.

Billy appeared at his shoulder, snatching at the phone. “What are you watching? Let me guess. Another one of those dumb videos.”

“Give it back,” Noah said, panic rising.

Billy tossed the phone in the air and caught it. “Or what? You gonna cry? You know what’s extra funny? You’re probably the only loser who actually wants to watch the video Mrs. Lane put on. You can just stay here after school and watch it with your friends.”

He paused, eyes gleaming. “Oh, wait. You don’t have any.”

Noah’s throat burned. “Just… leave me alone.”

“Or you can watch with your mom,” Billy added. “I’m sure she’d love that.”

Mrs. Lane’s return cut the scene short. Billy flipped Noah’s phone back onto his desk, and everyone scrambled to look occupied. The video started, the familiar intro music filling the room. Noah stared at the screen but barely saw it.

By the time the final bell rang that day, Noah felt like he’d been sandpapered from the inside.

He waited until the hallway was nearly empty before slipping out, hoodie clutched to his chest. On his way to the door, he almost collided with Frankie, who was leaving Miss Jacobs’s room with a faint, proud smile and an exam paper clutched in his hand.

“Nice shirt,” Frankie said, nodding at Noah’s hoodie. “I like his videos too.”

“Thanks,” Noah mumbled.

He turned the corner and ran smack into someone else. Papers went flying.

“Hey, watch where you’re going, loser,” Billy snapped, grabbing Noah’s shoulders.

“S-sorry,” Noah stammered, dropping to his knees to pick up the worksheets.

Billy looked down and burst out laughing. “No way. You’re actually wearing his merch,” he said, reading the “So you see…” logo. “That is… I don’t even have words. The loser wearing a ‘so you see’ hoodie can’t even see how ironic that is. Get it? Because you can’t see. Because you’re clueless.”

“It’s not supposed to be literal,” Noah said, cheeks flaming. “It’s just… something he says to teach you the lesson at the end.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s why no one knows,” Billy said. “Because only losers with no friends watch his videos.”

“That’s not true,” a girl with braids said from a few lockers away. “I watch him.”

“Exactly my point,” Billy said, smirking. “You’re a total dork too. Hey, maybe you and Noah can be partners tomorrow. You’re practically made for each other.”

He sauntered away before she could answer.

By the time Noah trudged up the cracked walkway to his apartment complex that afternoon, the California sun had turned the metal railings too hot to touch. He pushed open the door to their unit and tried to make his voice sound normal.

“I’m home.”

“In the kitchen, baby!” his mom called.

He walked in and found her by the stove, stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce. A cardboard package sat on the counter, marked with a familiar logo.

“Hey,” she said, turning and seeing his face. “Rough day?”

He shrugged.

“Well, I’ve got something that might help,” she said, smiling. She reached into the box and pulled out a folded piece of fabric. “A new hoodie. Limited edition, I think. ‘So you see.’”

Noah stared. His chest squeezed. “Oh,” he said. “Cool.”

“You don’t like it?” she asked, smile faltering. “I thought you loved his videos. I saved up for a couple weeks, you know. Shipping and all.”

He saw the receipt tucked into the box, the price circled. He saw the tired lines at the corners of her eyes, the way she shifted her weight like her feet hurt from standing all day.

“I… I do like him,” Noah said. “But… only losers watch his videos.”

His mom’s brows knit. “What? Who told you that?”

“Nobody,” he said quickly. “Nobody important.”

“Baby,” she said softly. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

He just shook his head. “I don’t want it anymore,” he whispered. “You can return it.”

Before she could say anything else, he grabbed his old hoodie from the back of a chair and bolted for the door.

He didn’t see the way her shoulders sagged as she set the new hoodie down.

Outside, his vision blurred. He fumbled with his glasses, bumping into a tall figure coming up the steps.

“Whoa there,” the man said, steadying him. Noah’s glasses knocked against something and slid off his face, clattering to the concrete.

“My glasses,” Noah said, reaching blindly. “I can’t see without them.”

“Got them,” the man said. He placed the frames gently in Noah’s hand.

Noah slid them back on and blinked.

He froze.

“Are you…?” he whispered.

The man smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s me.”

Noah’s mouth dropped. “You’re… Dar… I mean—”

“Just call me Dar,” the man said. “You okay? You looked like you’d had a long day.”

“It’s just…” The words tumbled out before Noah could stop them. “There’s this kid at school. He keeps calling me a loser because I don’t have friends. And tomorrow is Best Friends’ Day, and I’m the only person without a partner. And he said no girl will ever like me and only losers watch your videos and—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Dar said gently, holding up a hand. “Take a breath.”

Noah sucked in air, cheeks hot.

“Well, first of all,” Dar said, “thank you for watching. That means a lot. Second… just because you don’t have a lot of friends doesn’t make you a loser. You know that, right?”

Noah shrugged. “Feels that way.”

“When I was in school,” Dar said, “I didn’t have many friends either. Most days, I ate lunch alone. I thought that meant something was wrong with me. But later, I realized: you can be cool all by yourself. Your value isn’t decided by how many people sit at your table.”

“You… ate alone?” Noah asked. “For real?”

“For real,” Dar said. “And look how life turned out.” He smiled. “You’re not alone, Noah. It hurts now, but it gets better. In the meantime, you treat people the way you want to be treated. That matters more than how many followers you have or who wants to partner with you on some random school project.”

Noah swallowed, the knot in his throat loosening a little. “Thanks,” he said. “You have no idea how much that helps.”

Dar grinned. “Actually, I do,” he said. “And hey—don’t give up on that hoodie. Looks good on you.”

The next morning, the air at Lincoln High buzzed like it was homecoming. Posters about Best Friends’ Day were taped along the hallways, some crooked, some covered in doodles. Teachers tried to corral kids into seats while everyone compared outfits and whispered about their presentations.

In math, Miss Jacobs stood at the front of the room, a stack of exam papers in hand.

“Great work, Matthew,” she said, handing back tests. “Nice job, Isabella.”

She paused. “Frankie,” she said, her smile genuine. “You did incredible. You got all of the answers right. A perfect hundred.”

A few kids actually clapped. Frankie ducked his head, cheeks reddening.

Billy straightened in his seat. If Frankie had a perfect score and he had copied every answer…

“Billy,” Miss Jacobs said. “Come on in.”

He sauntered to her desk. “So?” he asked. “How’d I do?”

“Hello, class,” Miss Jacobs said instead, turning to address everyone. “Great job on the test. I’m especially proud of Frankie, who scored a perfect 100. And Billy, of course, who got all of the same answers as Frankie.”

The class looked impressed. A couple kids whistled.

“Let’s give them both a round of applause,” she said.

Billy basked in the sudden warmth. Maybe he’d pulled it off.

Then Miss Jacobs turned back to him. “I’m so impressed, Billy,” she said. “I’d love for you to come to the board and show us how to solve problem number seven.”

The warmth drained right out of him.

“How about we let Frankie do it?” he said quickly. “He’s the star, right?”

“I asked you,” Miss Jacobs said, her smile thin. “Be my guest.”

He walked to the front slowly, every step heavier than the last. Problem seven stared at him from the paper on the overhead projector: a system of equations, one linear, one quadratic.

He picked up the marker, hand trembling.

“What’s wrong, Billy?” Miss Jacobs asked. “You did read the questions, didn’t you?”

“I… I don’t know it off the top of my head,” he mumbled.

“Oh?” she said. “Or maybe you don’t know the answer at all.”

A murmur rippled through the room.

“When I said you got the same answers as Frankie,” she continued, “I meant exactly the same. And that would have been great, except for one minor detail.”

She held up two test papers. “I created two versions of the exam. They had all the same questions. The difference is, I changed the order of the answers. So, you see, Billy… if you had taken the same test as Frankie, you would have had a perfect score. Instead”—she flipped his paper over—“you scored a perfect zero.”

His stomach dropped. Laughter bubbled up from the back of the room, then died quickly under her glare.

“There has to be some mistake,” he said. “Please. I have to pass this class.”

“You should have thought of that before you decided to cheat off Frankie’s test,” Miss Jacobs said. She plucked a pink slip from her desk and wrote his name on it with neat, curving letters. “The only pass you’re getting today is a pass to the principal’s office.”

As Billy trudged out, the door closing behind him, Miss Jacobs turned back to the class.

“Let this be a reminder,” she said. “If you cheat, you will never get ahead. Frankie? Would you like to show us how to solve this?”

“I’d love to,” Frankie said. And this time, when the class watched him, there was something like respect in their eyes.

Best Friends’ Day rolled into English like nothing had happened in math. Kids presented in pairs—basketball buddies, dance team partners, neighbors who’d shared a fence since kindergarten—telling stories about matching Halloween costumes and sleepovers and what they wanted to be when they grew up.

“Professional gamer and YouTuber,” one boy said.

“Pediatrician,” his partner added.

“Influencer,” a girl in glittery eyeliner declared. “And she’ll be my manager.”

Mrs. Lane clapped after each one. “Very nice,” she said. “Friendship and ambition. I love it.”

“Okay,” she said at last, scanning the room. “Who’s next? Noah?”

Noah’s heart pounded. He’d worn the “So you see” hoodie after all. Dar’s words from the previous afternoon had played on a loop in his head. You can be cool all by yourself.

He stood, legs wobbly.

“Do you have a friend joining you?” Mrs. Lane asked gently.

“He doesn’t have any friends,” Billy blurted from across the room, back from his trip to the principal and apparently unchanged. “He’s a loser.”

There was a crack of quiet. Mrs. Lane’s jaw tightened.

“Billy,” she said. “That’s your last warning. One more comment like that and you’re getting detention.”

Billy slouched back in his chair, muttering.

Noah swallowed. “Um,” he said. “When I grow up, I want to be a YouTuber. Like… like Dar—”

The classroom door opened.

Heads turned. Mrs. Lane’s mouth fell open.

Standing in the doorway, wearing his signature black shirt and the same easy smile from a hundred videos, was Dar himself.

For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then the room exploded.

“Oh my gosh—”

“No way—”

“That’s actually him—”

Mrs. Lane pressed a hand to her chest. “Hi,” she said faintly. “Can we… help you?”

“I’m here to see my friend Noah,” Dar said. “Today’s Best Friends’ Day, right?”

Noah’s brain short-circuited. “My… my friend?” he squeaked.

“Well, you said yesterday you didn’t have one for this,” Dar said, stepping into the room. “So I figured I’d volunteer.”

The class stared. Even Billy’s jaw dropped.

“Go ahead, Noah,” Mrs. Lane whispered. “Finish your presentation.”

Noah gripped the edges of his paper. “Um,” he said. “When I grow up, I want to be a YouTuber. Like Dar.” He glanced at him. “Because… he tells stories that help people feel less alone. And… I’d like to do that too.”

“I think that’s pretty cool,” Dar said. He held up a folded piece of fabric. “In fact, I thought it was so cool, I brought you something.”

He unfolded it: a limited-edition hoodie, same logo, different colorway. Gasps went around the room.

“But…” Noah said. “I already have one.”

“This one’s special,” Dar said. “It’s just for you. And if anyone ever calls you a loser for liking my videos”—his gaze slid briefly to Billy—“they can take it up with me.”

Laughter rippled through the class, but it was friendly now, aimed sideways instead of down.

“Wow,” Mrs. Lane said. “That was very unexpected. Thank you for coming.”

“Happy to,” Dar said. “And remember, guys… we’re not just telling stories—”

“We’re changing lives,” Noah finished softly.

Dar winked. “Exactly.”

Outside in the hallway, as Dar was leaving, he nearly collided with Miss Henry, the English teacher from down the hall, arms full of graded papers.

“Oh!” she said. “Hi. We’re big fans.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dar said. “Looks like you’re busy.”

“End of the year,” she said, sighing. “Final reports, grades… and a few kids trying to cheat their way across the finish line.”

“Sounds familiar,” Dar said, smiling. “Good luck.”

Miss Henry’s biggest headache wasn’t Billy, though she’d heard about the math test. Her biggest headache had a name and a perfectly filled-in report she didn’t trust.

“When you’re done packing up,” she told her class that afternoon, “don’t forget: tomorrow, your final report on the book is due. It’s worth fifty percent of your grade. So please, do your very best.”

“How we doing?” she murmured as kids filed out and grabbed their graded essays.

“Great work, young man,” she said to one. “Not bad,” to another. “I’m proud of you. Keep it up, Billy.”

Billy blinked at the F on his paper. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Sure.”

“Arthur?” Miss Henry said, stopping a slight boy with a backpack almost as big as he was. “Can you hang back a second?”

Arthur adjusted his glasses. “Yes, Miss Henry?”

She held up his exam. “I am very impressed by you, young man. A plus. Excellent work.”

“Thank you,” he said, ducking his head.

When he stepped into the hallway, Billy was waiting.

“Well, well, well,” Billy said, plucking the exam out of Arthur’s hands. “Whaddaya know. An A plus.” He waved it like a flag. “You really are a nerd, huh?”

“Give it back,” Arthur said. “Please.”

“You want it back?” Billy said. “You got it.”

He crumpled the paper slightly and tossed it into the nearest trash can. The small crowd that had formed tittered.

“So about that report that’s due tomorrow,” Billy said. “I’m gonna need you to do it for me.”

Arthur froze. “I… I can’t,” he said. “That would be cheating. And I have to do my own book report. I won’t have time.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Billy said. “If I don’t get an A on this report, I’m not graduating. And we don’t want that to happen, do we?”

Arthur hesitated, the weight of his own future pressing on his shoulders. He thought of his parents’ faces when they’d seen his last report card. The way his dad had said “We’re proud of you” in a voice that sounded like it didn’t get to say those words very often.

“Fine,” Arthur said quietly. “I’ll do it. But I want you to know… if you cheat, you’ll never get ahead.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Billy said. “Sounds like something a loser would say. See you tomorrow, nerd.”

That night, while the rest of the neighborhood flickered with TV lights and backyard grills, Arthur sat at his small desk by the window and wrote.

He wrote Billy’s report first, pouring everything he’d noticed and underlined and dog-eared into three clean pages. When he finally finished and stapled it, his own blank paper stared at him from the corner of the desk like an accusation.

He glanced at the clock. 1:12 a.m.

His eyes burned. His hand ached from writing. He picked up his pencil to start his own report.

He fell asleep with his head on the desk, the pencil still in his hand.

By the time he woke up, sunlight was spilling through the blinds. His alarm had already gone off. Twice.

“7:45,” he gasped, scrambling to stuff books into his bag. His own paper had only a title scrawled at the top.

He ran all the way to school, lungs burning, sweat dampening his collar. He burst into the classroom just as the bell rang.

“Where have you been?” Billy hissed, already in his seat. “Class is about to start. You got my report?”

Arthur pulled it from his bag. “Here,” he said. “I stayed up all night working on it. I didn’t get to finish my own.”

“That really sucks for you,” Billy said, already turning away. He strutted to the front.

“Miss Henry,” he said. “I finished my book report. Spent all night on it. I think you’re gonna be really impressed.”

“I’m happy to hear that, Billy,” Miss Henry said. “Why don’t you hold onto it for now?”

Arthur slipped into his seat, heart pounding.

“Okay, class,” Miss Henry said after everyone had settled. “I know in the past you’ve just turned in your reports, but I decided to switch it up this time. Instead of handing them in, you’re going to present them. To the class.”

She smiled. “Who wants to go first?”

Billy’s hand shot up. “I will,” he said, swaggering to the front. “Dhar—uh, the author is an inspirational content creator who believes…”

“Actually,” Miss Henry said, cutting him off. “I don’t want you to read what’s on the paper. I want you to describe the book. In your own words.”

Billy froze. “He’s… inspirational,” he said lamely. “And, um, he believes in…”

He looked down. The words he’d handed in were written in Arthur’s careful, neat print.

“What’s wrong, Billy?” Miss Henry asked. “You did read the book, right?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I just—I don’t know it off the top of my head.”

“Oh?” Her eyes were steady. “Or maybe you don’t know it at all.”

“No, I—I know,” he said. “Really. I know what the book’s about.”

“Be honest,” she said. “You didn’t write that report.”

Silence fell over the class like a heavy blanket.

Miss Henry reached into her desk and pulled out a stack of small envelopes. Graduation party invitations. Billy’s name was scrawled across each one.

“I was coming in early yesterday to put these in your mailboxes,” she said. “I happened to walk by the hallway just in time to hear you pressuring Arthur.” She looked at him. “He told you it was cheating. You didn’t listen.”

Billy’s jaw clenched.

“You won’t be needing these anymore,” she said, dropping the invites into the trash can beside her desk. The sound of them hitting the empty bin was louder than it should have been.

She picked up another slip of paper—pink this time.

“So instead, here’s an invitation to the principal’s office,” she said. “You can go now.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. “Please,” he said. “I can’t—”

“If you’d actually read the book,” she said, “you would know what it says in the first chapter: if you cheat, you never get ahead.”

He left without another word.

Miss Henry turned to Arthur. “Would you like to present your report now?” she asked.

Arthur swallowed. He thought of the blank paper still sitting on his desk at home.

“I… didn’t finish mine,” he said. “I spent all night writing his.”

Miss Henry’s face softened. “I know,” she said quietly. “We’ll talk after class. For now, why don’t you tell us about the book. Just talk. You don’t need paper for that.”

He took a breath and began.

In the weeks that followed, the halls of Lincoln High felt different. Stories spread—not just about who’d cheated or who’d been caught—but about who’d stood up, who’d apologized, who’d changed.

Mikey, the kid who’d faked stomach aches and twisted ankles to dodge tests, ended up running more miles than anyone else that semester. Two at a time, sometimes three, under Coach Riley’s watchful eye. His real allergic reaction was regret, every time he saw the nurse at the hospital and remembered the look on his mom’s face as the fake siren blared.

Billy, the boy who’d copied answers and stolen homework, spent a lot of lunches in the principal’s office, working through extra assignments instead of scrolling through his feed. He watched Noah walk past him one afternoon, Dar’s hoodie bright against the lockers, surrounded by a few kids who’d finally realized listening to videos about empathy didn’t make you uncool.

He watched Frankie tutor a couple of freshmen in algebra, patient and kind.

He watched Arthur sit at a table by the library windows, writing in a notebook—not for an assignment, but for himself.

He thought about what Miss Jacobs had said, what Miss Henry had said, what even his own dad had muttered when he got the call. He thought about the line that kept coming back, like a headline he couldn’t escape.

If you cheat, you’ll never get ahead.

And slowly, in fits and starts, he started choosing the harder way. Opening the textbook instead of his phone. Asking Frankie for help instead of his answers. Writing his own words instead of stealing someone else’s.

The flag still flapped over the front steps every morning. The tests still came, stamped with the state seal and the weight of American GPAs. Kids still made mistakes, still lied, still tried shortcuts that blew up in their faces.

But some of them learned. Some of them listened.

And in a small, crowded public school on the edge of a California freeway, a nerd with thick glasses, a boy with no friends, a kid who cheated, and a kid who faked being sick all became part of the same quiet story:

What happens in the dark always comes to light.

And if you want to get ahead, for real, you have to walk into that light yourself.