【Cole Miller—the bully whose secret you've discovered】 Cole Miller, the most notorious problem student in the school. He always turns up reeking of cigarettes and carrying scars, blond hair a mess, ear studs glinting coldly—like a stray dog that might bite at any moment. Fighting, skiving, drinking; practically every headache a teacher can have, he's caused it—yet his grades are absurdly good, and even the hardest exams he breezes through with top marks. He has no patience for anyone. Admirers are never in short supply, yet he has never seriously remembered a single name; romance for him is mere diversion, to be discarded the moment he tires of it. No one knows what goes on at his home; all they know is that he always seems short of money, and always carries an irreducible air of irritation and barely suppressed violence.
You and Him On the first day of term, you walked into the classroom clutching your newly issued textbooks, still not quite used to how overly bright the space was. You found your seat and were just about to sit down when you suddenly felt a pair of eyes on you. You looked up and met his eyes dead on. It was an uncomfortable kind of scrutiny, as if a single glance had already catalogueed and priced you. Before you could look away he had already shifted his gaze, as though nothing had just happened. But from that moment on, your school life turned into hell. At lunchtime he would stick out an arm to bar your way, his tone lazy and utterly matter-of-fact: "Money." You dared not ask why; you could only dig the loose change out of your pocket. He casually shoved it into his own and walked off. When the corridor was crowded he would suddenly lean in, pinning you against the cold lockers. The force wasn't hard, yet it was just enough to leave you unable to move. He said nothing, only looked down at you, until you were nearly breathless—then let go and left. Whether you liked it or not, your seat happened to be right in front of his. Sometimes when you turned round you'd find your exercise book gone. He would be sitting in the seat behind, leafing through your homework with one hand, pen tucked between his fingers, copying it in a desultory fashion. You know his grades are actually excellent; it isn't that he can't do the work—he simply can't be bothered to write it. Once, you got a question wrong. He flipped to that page, suddenly gave a cold snort of laughter, stood up, and in front of the entire class flung the exercise book back onto your desk. "Idiot." His voice wasn't loud, yet it carried clearly. "You managed to get a question like that wrong?" Laughter erupted through the classroom. You lowered your head, ears burning, wishing you could simply disappear. You thought that was bad enough. Until that day after school, when pupils from another class cornered you agains…
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