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MidReal Story
The Boyfriend Effect
Scenario:A junior in high school has been single his whole life. He really wants a boyfriend and all his friends started dating people. He is starting to get really sad.
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Chris
He is a junior high school student. He is hopeful, sensitive, and lonely. Chris has always dreamed of having a boyfriend and confided in his friends. His friends started dating and he felt left out as he was the only single person. His crush on Sean, a popular athlete, made him feel even more isolated. Despite his friend Emily's support, Chris struggled with persistent loneliness and the fear of being single forever.
Emily
She is a close friend of Chris and a fellow high school student. She is supportive, loyal, and empathetic. Emily often encourages Chris to stay positive and reminds him of his worth despite his single status. She helps create an environment where Chris feels comfortable sharing his feelings and hopes for the future. Her friendship with Chris is a source of comfort for him during difficult times.
Jen
She is another close friend of Chris in high school. She is witty, confident, and sometimes blunt. Jen often teases Chris about being single and tries to set him up with someone from their social circle. Despite her playful jabbing, she genuinely cares about Chris's wellbeing and wants to see him happy. Her outgoing personality contrasts with Chris's quieter nature.
All my friends started dating.
I've been single for well, basically my whole life.
I really wanted a boyfriend, so I told my friends.
They were okay with that.
They said once I find the right person, I'll know.
I was hoping that the whole "knowing" thing would happen this year since I was a junior in high school.
All my friends started dating, and I was still single.
I was the only single person in my group of friends.
It made me feel left out and really sad.
I didn't want to be a downer, so I kept quiet and tried to be happy for them.
But sometimes it was hard not to show how I really felt.
My friend Emily noticed and asked me what was wrong.
I told her that it was just hard seeing all of them with boyfriends, but not having one myself.
She listened and then told me that it's okay.
That I will find someone when the time is right.
I knew she was trying to make me feel better, but it was hard not to feel sad about it all.
One of my other friends, Matt, started dating, and he told me that he knew I would be next.
He said that all my friends had boyfriends now, and soon I would have one too.
During lunch break, I sat with Emily at our usual corner table.
I picked at my sandwich, trying to gather the courage to ask her what I wanted to.
The cafeteria was buzzing with the usual chatter of students catching up with friends or working on homework.
I barely noticed the commotion around us as I finally asked her, "Do you think there's anyone in school that might be a good match for me?"
Emily's eyes lit up, and she scanned the room as if searching for potential candidates.
Her enthusiasm made me a little nervous.
"There are a few guys in our theater club," she said, mentioning a couple of names.
I shook my head at each suggestion.
They were nice guys, but not really my type.
Emily furrowed her brow, trying to figure out what I was looking for.
"What's your type?" she asked curiously.
I hesitated, unsure of how to answer.
My gaze unconsciously drifted across the cafeteria to Sean's table.
He was laughing with his friends, completely carefree and oblivious to my attention. Emily followed my line of sight and noticed where I was looking.
Her expression changed from curiosity to concern.
She reached over and gently squeezed my hand.
"I'll keep thinking about it," she said softly.
After lunch, I lingered by my locker, pretending to organize my books while stealing glances down the hallway.
Sean was standing with his teammates, discussing their next game.
My heart skipped a beat when he ran his hand through his dark hair—a nervous habit I had observed over the weeks of secretly watching him.
When he turned in my direction, I quickly looked away, fumbling with my chemistry textbook.
The metal locker door slammed shut louder than intended, drawing curious looks from passing students.
As I hurried to pick up the fallen book, music suddenly blasted through the hallway speakers.
Students around me stopped and stared as a group of dancers emerged from various classroom doors.
My jaw dropped when I saw Sean step into the center of the forming circle, moving confidently to the beat.
I pressed myself against my locker, clutching my book to my chest as more dancers joined in perfect synchronization.
The crowd grew, pushing me closer to the performance.
Sean's athletic grace translated perfectly to dance, his movements precise and powerful.
In that moment, I realized I was witnessing something extraordinary, and maybe, just maybe, I wasn't as invisible as I thought.
My heart pounded as I joined the rhythm, tentatively clapping along with the growing crowd.
The dancers wove through the hallway, their synchronized movements creating a tunnel of energy.
Sean spun closer to where I stood, his eyes scanning the faces around him.
When his gaze landed on me, I managed a small smile despite my trembling hands.
He grinned back, never missing a beat in his routine.
The music swelled as he extended his hand toward me, inviting me to join the dance.
My hand trembles as I reach for Sean's outstretched fingers.
The crowd around us blurs into background noise while Sean pulls me closer to him.
I stumble slightly, my chemistry book clattering to the floor beside my feet.
Sean steadies me with his other hand on my waist, guiding me into a simple two-step that matches the music's rhythm.
The other dancers continue their routine around us, but Sean keeps his movements basic, helping me follow along.
My face burns with embarrassment at my clumsy steps, but Sean's encouraging smile never wavers.
Following Sean's lead, I start to relax into the simple dance steps.
His hand stays firm on my waist, guiding me through each movement as the other dancers swirl around us.
The hallway feels electric with music and motion, but I focus only on counting "one-two, one-two" in my head.
When I finally look up from watching my feet, Sean's face is closer than I expect.
His eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins, noticing my intense concentration.
The music swells, and he spins me carefully, keeping me steady when I wobble.
The music builds to a crescendo, and I find myself moving more confidently with each step.
Sean's hand stays firm on my waist, guiding me through the rhythm.
Suddenly, the piercing sound of the fire alarm cuts through the music, jarring us all to a stop.
Sean's hands drop from my waist as students pour out of classrooms into the hallway.
The dancers scatter, their routine forgotten in the chaos.
I lose sight of Sean as bodies push past me toward the exit.
My shoulder slams against a locker when someone shoves me from behind.
Through the crowd, I spot my abandoned chemistry book getting trampled by rushing feet.
I lean against the locker, rubbing my bruised shoulder as students continue pushing past me.
The fire alarm blares overhead, making my ears ring.
Through the sea of rushing bodies, I see my chemistry book lying trampled on the floor.
Its pages are bent and torn, some ripped out completely.
Just as I push off from the locker to retrieve it, someone grabs my arm.
I turn, startled, to see a tall girl with fiery red hair I've never seen before.
She tugs my arm insistently, her grip firm but not painful.
"Come on," she urges, pulling me toward the exit.
I resist, my eyes still fixed on my ruined book.
The girl frowns, her voice rising over the alarm.
"We have to go," she insists, tugging harder.
I finally allow her to guide me away from the locker, but I keep glancing back at my mangled book.
That's when I see it: gray wisps curling out from under Mr. Peterson's classroom door.
Smoke drifts lazily into the hallway like tendrils of fog.
It spreads quickly across the floor, creeping like spilled water.
My eyes start to sting, and I blink rapidly.
The red-haired girl coughs, covering her mouth with her hand.
Other students begin to cough too, some covering their faces with shirts or hands.
The smoke thickens, making it hard to see more than a few feet in front of us. I finally abandon all thoughts of my book and let the girl lead me forward.
But now it's difficult to see where we're going through the haze.
We stumble forward, bumping into others who have slowed down in confusion.
The girl and I cough, our eyes watering from the smoke.
We reach out, feeling along the wall to guide us.
Other students bump into us from behind, their coughs echoing in the crowded hallway.
Through stinging eyes, I catch a glimpse of something red ahead.
It's the exit sign, glowing through the smoke like a beacon.
The girl tugs my arm harder, pushing through the crowd toward it.
My shoulder throbs where I hit the locker, but adrenaline keeps me moving.
I grip the girl's hand tightly as we shove through the final crowd of students blocking the exit.
The metal door feels hot against my palm when I push it open.
Bright sunlight blinds me after the dark smoky hallway, making me squint and stumble.
My legs give out the moment we clear the doorway.
I fall onto the damp grass, scraping my knees through my jeans.
The girl tumbles down beside me, both of us coughing and gulping clean air.
"Are you okay?" she asks between breaths, her voice hoarse.
I nod, wiping my eyes.
"That was no ordinary fire," she says, glancing back at the building with a worried expression.
I sit up on the grass, my scraped knees stinging and my shoulder throbbing.
The girl stays close, both of us still coughing occasionally as the smoke clears from our lungs.
In the distance, I hear the wail of sirens growing louder.
Three fire trucks speed into the parking lot, their red lights flashing against the brick walls of the school.
Firefighters in heavy gear jump out before the trucks fully stop.
They unroll thick hoses and rush past us toward the building entrance.
The girl grabs my arm again when I try to stand up, pointing at the dark smoke now billowing from Mr. Peterson's classroom window.
"Wait," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
I sit back down on the damp grass next to her.
My hands are still shaking as I fumble for my phone in my pocket.
Other students around us are already calling and texting, their voices rising in panic.
My shoulder aches where I hit the locker, making it hard to hold my phone steady.
The screen is smudged with ash from my dirty fingers.
I try calling Mom first, but it goes straight to voicemail.
The girl beside me notices my frustration and offers her own phone.
"The cell towers must be overwhelmed," she explains.
I nod, accepting her phone with a grateful smile.
"Do you think this was intentional?" she asks, her eyes wide with fear.
I hesitate, then whisper, "Mr. Peterson was acting strange this morning, like he knew something was about to happen."
She blinks, her eyes widening further.
"What do you mean?"
I lean back against the trunk of a tree, away from the crowd of students.
"I had first period with him," I explain.
"He locked the door as soon as class started. He never does that."
The girl's brow furrows in confusion.
"So?"
I shrug.
"And he kept checking his phone. Like, every few minutes. He was sweating too, even though the room was freezing."
The girl nods, her expression thoughtful.
"Anything else?"
I think for a moment before answering.
"No, that's all."
She pulls out her own phone and starts typing something quickly.
"Who are you texting?"
I ask, curious.
"My best friend," she replies without looking up.
"She's going to be worried about me."
"Oh."
I glance back at the school building, watching as firefighters rush inside with their equipment.
The flames are getting higher now, licking at the edges of the window frame.
The girl finishes typing and turns to me with a smile.
"My name is Rachel, by the way."
"I'm Chris,” I say, returning her smile weakly.
"So, tell me more about Mr. Peterson," Rachel says, leaning forward with interest. I hesitate, unsure how much to share.
But Rachel seems genuinely curious, not just gossiping like some of the other girls in my class.
"He was acting really strange this morning," I repeat.
"Like he knew something was going to happen."
Rachel nods thoughtfully.
"That does sound suspicious."
She pauses, then asks another question.
"Did you notice anything else unusual?"
I think back to the classroom this morning.
Mr. Peterson had been pacing around the room while we worked on our assignments, occasionally glancing at his phone or out the window.
At one point, he'd excused himself and stepped into the hallway for a few minutes before returning and resuming his lecture.
It hadn't seemed like anything out of the ordinary at the time, but now it feels different somehow.
"Actually," I admit slowly, "there was something else."
Rachel leans forward eagerly, her eyes wide with anticipation. "He left the classroom for a few minutes during first period," I continue.
"I don't know where he went or what he did while he was gone. But when he came back, he seemed agitated."
Rachel nods thoughtfully again.
"That does sound suspicious," she agrees softly.
We both fall silent for a moment as we watch the firefighters battling the blaze inside our school building.
Rachel's eyes narrow, and she whispers, "Do you think he started the fire?"
I shake my head, unsure. "I don't know, but it feels like he knew something bad was coming."
Rachel bites her lip, glancing back at the building. "We need to tell someone about this."
I nod, still sitting on the grass with Rachel.
We're both covered in ash and soot from the fire, our faces smudged with dark streaks.
Suddenly, another girl rushes over to us, her long blonde hair flying behind her.
"Chris!" she exclaims, grabbing my arm.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I say, wincing as she squeezes my shoulder.
"What's wrong?"
The girl glances at Rachel nervously, then pulls me aside.
"I overheard the firefighters talking," she whispers urgently.
"They said the fire started in Mr. Peterson's desk drawer."
My eyes widen in surprise.
"That's what I told Rachel," I reply quietly.
"He was acting really weird this morning."
The girl nods, her expression serious.
"I know. I had second period with him too. He seemed nervous and distracted."
I frown, remembering how Mr. Peterson had locked the door during first period.
"Do you think he knew something was going to happen?"
The girl hesitates, then says, "I don't know, but we need to find out more."
She glances back at the school building, where firefighters are still battling the flames.
"We can't just sit here and wait for answers." "What do you want to do?"
I ask warily.
The girl looks around cautiously before answering.
"I think we should check his desk before they clear everything out."
I blink, taken aback by her suggestion.
"But isn't that dangerous? The building is still on fire."
The girl shrugs, a determined look on her face.
"It's worth a shot. We might find something important."
I hesitate for a moment before nodding slowly.
"Okay, let's do it."
The girl grins triumphantly and turns back to Rachel, who has been watching our conversation curiously.
"Come on," she says, beckoning us both to follow her.
"We need to be quick before anyone notices what we're doing."
Rachel stands up hesitantly, brushing off her jeans.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?"
The blonde girl nods confidently.
"We'll be fine. Just stay close behind me." We follow the blonde girl toward the school building, keeping a safe distance from the firefighters who are still battling the blaze.
As we approach the entrance, I can see that the flames have died down significantly, but there is still smoke billowing out of the windows and doors.