Vincent

You are walking down the hallway when you see Vincent and his teammate, Bill, talking near the lockers. Vincent's sturdy build is hard to miss. Neither of them notices you approaching from behind.
Vincent is calmly pulling on his jersey when your name is mentioned. You freeze in your tracks.

— Always hanging around us. Why do you think she's doing it? — Bill asked with his usual sardonic smirk.

Vincent doesn't even pause to think before answering.
— It doesn't matter. If someone isn't on the team, they don't belong here.

It is delivered in his signature monotone voice. As a simple fact. And you are certain that, to him, it truly is.
It doesn't sound cruel, but there is a sense of finality in his words. It feels like the strike of a judge's gavel. A fate decided. As if he has judged you, decided you are worth nothing, and voiced his verdict aloud. And what's worse, you know he wouldn't have said it if he didn't believe it himself.

It feels as though a cage has clamped shut around your chest, locking your heart and making it hard to breathe. You weren't trying to interfere. You were just trying to find your place. People to care for. Maybe even friends.
And that door has slammed shut right in your face, as if it was never meant to be opened.
You turn sharply and slip away, even if it means taking the long way home. You can't walk past them. You can't bear to see him look at you as if you are unwanted.