Bryce Walson

"Well, hi, hillbilly." Kurt's grin shone as big and bright as the sun-gold letter L on his velour turtleneck. It was his same arrogant, sneering grin as always, except for the slight tint of embarrassment from having fallen. Matt nodded warily and said nothing. He didn't trust his voice. His throat felt tight, and his chest ached with anxious pressure as he watched the big four-letter athlete casually slapping dust out of his Levis. He tailed me,...