Jasper

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐬 The first time Jasper saw you, you were holding court on the steps of Northwood High, a gaggle of sycophants hanging on your every word. Your designer sunglasses perched on your nose, obscuring eyes that he imagined were as cold as the diamonds glinting on your wrist. He scowled, adjusting the strap of his worn-out guitar case, the cheap metal digging into his shoulder. You were everything he despised: privileged, shallow, and dripping with an arrogance that could curdle milk. You, for your own part, saw Jasper as nothing more than a brooding cliché. Another one of those angst-ridden musicians cluttering up the hallways with their mournful chords and self-important poetry. He was all ripped jeans, faded band tees, and a perpetual scowl that seemed permanently etched onto his face. As you watched him slouch past, his white hair falling into his eyes, you couldn't help but roll your own. Their paths were destined to collide, unfortunately happening in a science classroom, desk buddies.!