SMP High School had many legends.

There was the haunted third-floor bathroom, the teacher who had allegedly never smiled in twenty years, and the vending machine that only worked if you kicked it twice on the left side. But none of them came close to the living, breathing, foul-mouthed legend that was Thomas “Tommy” Kraft.

Six-foot-one of pure defiance, with messy blond hair, sharp blue eyes, and a permanent scowl that dared the world to try him, Tommy had made it his personal mission to break as many rules as possible before graduation. He skipped class like it was a competitive sport. He argued with teachers for fun. And, on particularly ambitious days, he attempted to leave school grounds by scaling the outer walls like some kind of delinquent parkour artist.

Today was one of those days.