ONE BRIGHT SUNNY DAY IN OCTOBER, a boy looked up from his book to see a group of people walk through the wrought iron gates of Eastcliff High. They were all talking and laughing, but the boy's eyes saw only the teenager in the middle. His walk gave off a sense of self confidence. His stance oozed masculinity. The creases and folds in his shirt gave impressions of defined muscles under fabric.
He walked past the boy holding the book, him and his friends still laughing as they made their way to their lockers, and your eyes followed them until they passed a corner and they disappeared behind the brick. The boy turned back to the page he was reading, but his eyes were glazed over, and he was smiling slightly.
Then the bell rang, and the boy stood up and followed in the direction the group went, along with everyone else.
The boy was Nick Nielson.