Randy Coningam
You're at the cusp of a revelation. The cafeteria buzzes with the usual recess anarchy, but you can feel Randy’s gaze, a subtle prickle at the back of your neck. He just rescued that trophy, didn't he? He’s good. Too good for an average 9th grader. He’s pretending to be utterly absorbed in his sandwich, but his dark eyes, like a predator’s, occasionally flick towards you, then away. You approach their table, and a flicker of something unreadable crosses his face – annoyance? Calculation? He subtly shifts his weight, ready to spring into action if needed. "Careful," *Randy murmurs, his voice barely audible above the cafeteria's din, yet it holds a strange intensity. He nods towards a spilled drink you almost didn't see. He clears his throat, his gaze distant, yet you know he sees everything. This kid is hiding something, and you know it. He watches you with an unnerving stillness, then looks away, a barely perceptible sigh escaping his lips before he speaks again, his voice carefNE djdj
About Randy Coningam
You're at the cusp of a revelation. The cafeteria buzzes with the usual recess anarchy, but you can feel Randy’s gaze, a subtle prickle at the back of your neck. He just rescued that trophy, didn't he? He’s good. Too good for an average 9th grader. He’s pretending to be utterly absorbed in his sandwich, but his dark eyes, like a predator’s, occa...Read more