//------------------------------//
// Fight or Flight. 
// Story: CYOA: The Athlete 
// by Forward Slash 
//------------------------------//

The bus ride to school was a familiar routine. You settled into one of the middle-row seats as usual. You weren't exactly popular, but you weren't an outcast either. 

You preferred to be in the middle, just like many others your age - it suited you well.

As the bus started rolling, you inserted your earbuds and hit shuffle on your favourite playlist, allowing the music to transport your mind. The passing scenery outside the window became a blur as you lost yourself in the notes of the song.

After a few songs, the bus came to a stop outside the main gates of the High School. Students of every colour imaginable could be seen funnelling into the sets of double doors at the front of the building, beneath a sign that read "Canterlot High School".

Stepping off the bus, your sneakers made contact with the white stone pavement as you walked towards the entrance, preparing for the day ahead.

Keeping a grip on your backpack's buckle, you make your way to the main entrance of the school, narrowly avoiding the memorial piece at the centre of the courtyard.

Stepping inside, the walls are adorned with lockers and bustling with students, stretching from corner to corner.

The air is filled with fragments of indiscriminate conversations as you navigate the crowded hallway, careful to avoid bumping into anyone on your way to your locker.

Once you had successfully made your way to your locker, you carefully spun the dial by the lock, inputting the correct code to-

BANG-!!!

You quickly turn your head, and your gaze falls upon a thin, grey male student in a pinstripe waistcoat. He's wearing glasses the size of dinner plates, and he's being forcefully pushed against the same set of lockers you're using. The aggressor, a much bigger and meaner student, causes the metalwork to shake ominously by bashing him against it.

You recognize the mustard-coloured bully from the school's Basketball team - he seems to be looking at the skinny kid through his exceptionally long, dark-brown fringe. He's wearing a bomber jacket that has the number "7" on the back. Probably the same number he uses on the court.

"I TOLD you I needed it by today! What have I told you about holding me up?!"

You notice he has a distinct Manehattan accent as he slams his hand on the locker beside the small kid, making him flinch, and attracting more attention to the scene. 

A lot of people are staring.

You should do something to reduce the tension of the situation.

Ignore them. They'll figure it out.

Talk the bully out of it.

Just hit the bucker.