High school was a joke, and you and James, or, Jimmy, were the punchline. The two of you had made it your personal mission to cause as much chaos as humanly possible. If there was a rule, you broke it. It started small, harmless pranks on teachers: switching the principal’s morning announcements with an audio clip of a man screaming, sneaking into the cafeteria and replacing the “beef” with some unidentifiable canned slop from the janitor’s closet.

But soon, things escalated. Fire alarms, graffiti with hidden meanings, sneaking into the school’s PA system to play inappropriate soundbites during pep rallies.

Jimmy was your partner in crime, the guy who’d stand next to you while the principal screamed about “how much potential you were both wasting.” But what you didn’t realize—at least, not until it hit you like a dodgeball in gym class—was that Jimmy had it bad for you.

And, being Jimmy, he couldn’t just tell you. That would be too normal. Too simple.

No, he had to make it weird.

It was a Tuesday, third period, and you were sitting in class, bored out of your mind. The teacher was droning on about something that had no chance of helping you in real life when suddenly—BAM! the door slammed open.

There stood Jimmy, out of breath, clutching a beat-up old boombox.

Then he hit play.

At first, you thought it was going to be some cliché, cheesy love ballad. But no. It was not.

It was a mashup of animal mating calls.

Loud, obnoxious, absurd noises filled the room—monkeys screeching, frogs croaking, birds singing some weird-ass courtship song. Some poor girl in the front row dropped her pencil in horror. The teacher’s face turned a shade of purple you didn’t know was possible.

But Jimmy? Jimmy was grinning like an absolute maniac.