I’m not the last one through the door, though—Danny Yao is. My blood freezes as he brushes past me. The image of the bike shed presses against my mind. I imagine him cursing my name, scribbling the words over the wall, laughing about it with his friends. But then my attention goes to his face, and I stifle a gasp. His entire left eye is swollen shut, the skin around it a vivid purplish-blue.
JULIUS AHHHHHHH
— Jun 09, 2025 11:49AM
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