Adrian had dealt with hardened criminals, dangerous gang members, and armed drug dealers during his FBI career, but nothing had prepared him for the daily challenge of being surrounded by actual teenagers. By his third week at Riverside High, he was starting to understand why some people chose careers that didn't involve adolescents.
The noise level alone was exhausting. Between classes, the hallways erupted into a chaos of shouting, laughing, locker slamming, and what Adrian could only describe as unnecessary dramatic screaming about everything from pop quizzes to relationship drama. His FBI training had taught him to stay alert to his surroundings, but the constant sensory assault was wearing down his patience.
"Oh my GOD, did you see what happened on Instagram last night?" Jessica shrieked at lunch, her voice hitting a pitch that made Adrian wince.
"NO WHAT HAPPENED?" Sarah screamed back, even though she was sitting two feet away.
Adrian took a deep breath and reminded himself that this was normal teenage behavior. He was supposed to blend in, which meant acting like he found this level of emotional intensity over social media completely reasonable.
"Tell me everything," he said with what he hoped was appropriate enthusiasm.
The real test of his patience came from a group of wealthy students who had quickly identified Adrian as an outsider worth targeting. They were led by Connor Wellington, whose father apparently owned half the commercial real estate in town, and Madison Pierce, whose mother was some kind of local social media influencer.
It started small - comments about Adrian's clothes being "obviously thrift store," jokes about him not having the latest iPhone, casual mentions of expensive restaurants and vacations that Adrian clearly couldn't afford. Adrian had faced down armed suspects without flinching, but listening to seventeen-year-olds mock his fake financial situation while maintaining his cover was testing limits he didn't know he had.
"Nice shoes, Matthews," Connor said loudly during passing period, making sure other students could hear. "Did you get those at a garage sale?"
Adrian looked down at his deliberately scuffed sneakers - part of his carefully constructed poor-transfer-student image. "Actually, yeah," he said with a forced smile. "Good eye."
Connor laughed like this was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "At least you're honest about being broke."
Every instinct Adrian had was screaming at him to respond the way he would to any other punk trying to intimidate him. In the real world, Adrian Chen was a federal agent who commanded respect through competence and authority. Adrian Matthews was supposed to be a vulnerable eighteen-year-old who could be pushed around by kids with trust funds.
"Leave him alone, Connor," Mike said, appearing beside Adrian. "He's cool."
"If you say so," Connor replied, but his smirk suggested this was far from over.
The bullying escalated throughout the week. Madison started a whisper campaign about Adrian's "weird" behavior, pointing out how he always seemed to be listening to other people's conversations and asking too many questions about people's weekend plans. Connor began deliberately bumping into Adrian in the hallways, each time with a fake apology that fooled no one.
By Friday, Adrian's self-control was hanging by a thread. He was standing at his locker when Connor approached with his usual crew of followers.
"Hey Matthews," Connor said loudly. "My dad's company is hiring custodial staff. You interested? I could put in a good word for you."
The laughter from Connor's friends echoed down the hallway. Adrian slowly closed his locker and turned to face them, his movements careful and controlled.
"That's very considerate of you," Adrian said, his voice calm but with an edge that anyone with sense would recognize as dangerous.
Connor either didn't have sense or didn't care. "I mean, you're going to need a job after graduation, right? Assuming you actually graduate."
Adrian's hands clenched into fists at his sides. He was calculating how quickly he could put Connor on the ground when a familiar voice interrupted.
"Mr. Wellington, Mr. Matthews."
Blake Morrison had appeared in the hallway, and Adrian had never been happier to see anyone in his life.
"Is there a problem here?" Blake asked, his teacher voice carrying just enough authority to make Connor's friends step back slightly.
"No problem, Mr. Morrison," Connor said, his smirk fading slightly. "Just having a friendly conversation with our new student."
Blake's eyes flicked to Adrian, who was standing very still with what Blake was beginning to recognize as Adrian's version of barely controlled rage.
"Mr. Matthews, could you help me carry some supplies to my classroom?" Blake asked. "I could use an extra pair of hands."
Adrian nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He followed Blake down the hallway, his jaw still clenched tight.
Once they were safely in the empty conference room that served as Blake's temporary classroom, Blake closed the door and turned to face Adrian.
"Are you okay?" Blake asked quietly.
Adrian was pacing like a caged animal, his teenage persona completely gone. "I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth.
"You don't look fine. You look like you want to hit something."
"I want to hit someone," Adrian corrected. "Specifically, I want to grab that little rich boy by his expensive shirt and explain exactly what happens to people who think money makes them untouchable."
Blake blinked at the venom in Adrian's voice. This was definitely not how an eighteen-year-old would handle teenage bullying.
"Adrian," Blake said carefully. "You can't let them get to you like this."
"I know," Adrian said, stopping his pacing to lean against the wall. "I know I can't react. But listening to that spoiled brat talk down to me like I'm nothing... it's harder than I expected."
"You're not nothing," Blake said firmly. "And Connor Wellington is an entitled little punk who picks on people because he knows his daddy's money will protect him from consequences."
Adrian looked up at Blake with surprise. "You don't like him either?"
"I can't stand him," Blake admitted. "He's been a problem since freshman year. But you can't let him provoke you into doing something you'll regret."
"I won't regret putting him in his place," Adrian muttered.
"Yes, you will," Blake said. "Because whatever your real reason for being here is, blowing your cover over Connor Wellington isn't worth it."
Adrian went very still. "What makes you think I have a cover to blow?"
Blake gave him a look. "Adrian, I just watched you go from mild-mannered transfer student to someone who looks like they could commit murder without breaking a sweat. That's not normal teenage anger."
Adrian rubbed his face with his hands. "This is harder than I thought it would be."
"What is?"
"Being seventeen again," Adrian said, then caught himself. "I mean, being eighteen. Acting like these things matter when they don't."
Blake studied Adrian's face. "How long do you have to keep this up?"
"I don't know," Adrian said honestly. "Until I finish what I came here to do."
"And what happens if Connor keeps pushing? What happens if you snap?"
Adrian was quiet for a long moment. "I guess I'll have to figure out how to not snap."
"I could help," Blake offered. "If you want. I know it's not... conventional, but if you need someone to talk to when things get overwhelming..."
Adrian looked at Blake with something that might have been gratitude. "Why would you do that?"
"Because," Blake said, then stopped. He wasn't sure how to explain that watching Adrian struggle to maintain his cover was affecting him in ways he didn't fully understand. "Because you shouldn't have to handle this alone."
Adrian smiled for the first time since the hallway incident. "Thank you. That... that actually means a lot."
"Just promise me you won't actually hurt Connor," Blake said. "He's not worth whatever trouble it would cause you."
"I promise," Adrian said. "Though if he keeps pushing, I might need you to remind me of that."
"I can do that," Blake said. "Just try to remember - you're supposed to be a normal teenager. Normal teenagers don't know seventeen different ways to disable someone with their bare hands."
Adrian grinned. "Who says I know seventeen different ways?"
"How many do you know?"
"More than seventeen," Adrian said, his good mood returning. "But don't worry. I'll stick to being harmlessly eighteen-year-old Adrian Matthews."
As Adrian left the classroom, Blake remained behind, more convinced than ever that Adrian was involved in something far more complex and dangerous than simple criminal activity. The way Adrian had controlled his anger, the casual mention of combat skills, the discipline required to maintain such an elaborate cover - it all pointed to something much more serious than Blake had initially imagined.
And despite his growing suspicions about Adrian's true identity and purpose, Blake found himself increasingly determined to help protect whatever mission Adrian was really on.