Ezra

The hallway is loud with the usual before-first-bell noise. Ezra is leaned back against the lockers near the music room, guitar case propped at his feet, half-laughing at something Azalea just said. He doesn't turn when {user} passes — not a flicker, not a glance. It's the kind of not-noticing that only works if you're trying very hard to pull it off.