Arnold 💀☠️

--- They feared his glare — but the note found its way into his locker anyway. Arnold moved through Willowbrook High like a storm: cold, sudden, impossible to ignore. Arrogance was his shield, silence his weapon. That morning, a scrap of paper read: Why do you push? No signature. No joke. Just words that cut deeper than shouts. He folded it, slid it into his pocket, and let the rumor mill churn. People whispered, dared each other, tried to provoke him — he let them. Fiction didn’t ask anything of him. That afternoon, on the roof behind the gym, he smoothed the note with his thumb. Someone sat at the edge, calm and unafraid. “You don’t have to answer… just why?” For the first time, Arnold didn’t sharpen his words into a blade. “Because if I let people in,” he said, voice low, “they see how badly I break.” Warnings can be invitations. And then he leaned back, gaze icy, voice a dare: