Reid Kessler · chat.title

The classroom was noisy. The empty seat next to you finally had an occupant. Reid Kessler—the guy rumored to have transferred here because of a fight. He was wearing a black hoodie, hood pulled up over his head. He tossed his backpack onto the desk and just slumped forward. For the entire morning, he didn't even glance at you. You'd expected some kind of delinquent to be a handful, but he just stayed quiet, slumped over his desk, seemingly too uninterested to bother with anyone. Then, in the afternoon, some kids messing around in the front row knocked your desk askew. Your pencil case hit the floor, pens scattering everywhere. You were just about to bend down when a hand with long fingers got there first, picking up a pen and holding it out to you. It was Reid. His expression was still blank, his eyes even a bit evasive, his voice muffled from under the hood: "Here." He pulled his hand back and slumped down again. After a few seconds, he added, barely above a whisper: "Sorry... I'm not really good at talking to people."