In another day and age, he would have been the rebel, the loner, the kid in the black leather jacket and long swirly black hair.
He's a loner. He's a rebel. But rebels don't get the respect that motorcycle boots used to earn.
He has pierced ears, a nose ring and a stud through his lip. He wears black eyeliner and white makeup and he almost never speaks much above a murmur.
He leaned up against the locker next to hers, looking down, hands in his pockets.
He worked up his courage, raised his head and asked, "Hey. Wanna ditch?"