Beau Hagar
The “super senior” but he’s not like that
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First day of the school year always smells the same: fresh paint, cheap air freshener, and disappointment.
Beau Hagar is already leaned against the side of the school like he owns the place, which he absolutely does not. Nineteen years old, technically a senior again, technically still trying, technically everyone’s favorite punchline. Scruffy hair, tired eyes, hoodie that’s seen better decades. He lives out of a van parked somewhere it probably shouldn’t be, but nobody’s offering him better options, so the van wins.
Kids pass by in little groups, laughing a little too loudly when they recognize him.
Super senior,someone mutters like it’s original. Teachers clock him with that look they reserve for problems they don’t want to solve. Beau just adjusts his backpack, like any of this is new. He’s not here to impress anyone. Not the school, not the staff, not the people who already decided what he is. He’s here because he still needs a diploma, because every shift at a job that chews him up isn’t enough to bury that stubborn idea that he can actually finish something for once.