His heavy shoulder dropped as he threw a wide, uncontrolled punch toward Eli’s jaw.
“I’m taking it right now!”
Marcus shouted.
Eli didn’t try to meet the charge with force.
Instead, he moved.
It was one smooth, practiced pivot, the sort of movement that suggested more than ordinary instinct.
He turned on his heel, letting Marcus’s momentum carry him toward the space where Eli had been standing.
At the same time, Eli moved his chair.
The reinforced metal legs entered the larger boy’s path.
“Then take the floor instead,” Eli answered.
Marcus was already moving too quickly to stop.
His shin caught the steel tubing.
His balance disappeared.
For one awkward instant, his broad shoulders tilted forward while his feet struggled to regain contact with the floor.
Then he fell.
The sound of his heavy body striking the linoleum echoed across the cafeteria.
A tray clattered nearby.
Someone shouted.
Marcus rolled onto his side with a strained groan.
His lip had split when his face met the floor, leaving a small red mark against the polished surface.
For half a second, nobody moved.
Then the room erupted.
Students climbed onto benches.
Others hurried backward, creating a wider circle around the fallen senior.
Several voices began speaking at once.
“He rushed him!”
“Did you see that chair?”
“Somebody get help!”
Eli stood beside the table, still holding the metal chair.
His breathing remained controlled, although his hands had begun trembling slightly.
He looked down at Marcus.
The senior was moving and conscious, but clearly stunned.
Eli had never wanted him injured.
He had wanted him to stop.
He considered setting the chair back beside the table.
Before he could, the heavy double doors swung open.
Mr.
Harrison hurried through the entrance, his shoes striking the linoleum as he forced his way through the crowd.
“What is going on here?”
Students stepped aside.
The teacher reached the center of the circle and immediately saw Marcus lying on the floor.
His expression changed from irritation to alarm.
“Marcus?”
The senior groaned and pressed a hand to his face.
Mr.
Harrison looked up.
Eli stood nearby.
The chair remained in his hands.
The teacher’s eyes moved from the fallen football player to the metal furniture, then back to Eli.
He didn’t ask who had started the confrontation.
He didn’t ask whether anyone had witnessed what happened.
He rushed toward the smaller boy and seized his shirt collar.
Eli stumbled backward.
“Put that chair down!
Have you completely lost your mind?!”
Every student nearby heard him.
Eli released the chair.
It struck the floor with a metallic crash.
Mr.
Harrison tightened his grip and pulled him away from the table.
“Principal’s office.
Right now.”
Eli offered no resistance.
He didn’t try to explain the spilled milk, the confrontation, or the mark forming on his cheek.
Instead, he looked past the teacher’s shoulder.
His lunch tray remained abandoned beside the radiator.
The sandwich was ruined.
Milk had spread across the notebook and soaked the foil wrapper.
But the black smart-pen was still resting exactly where he’d left it.
Its tiny red light continued blinking.
And as Mr.
Harrison dragged him toward the cafeteria doors, Eli noticed something that made his stomach tighten.
The teacher had already decided who was responsible.
The story isn’t over yet.
Select “Next Part” below to see what happens next.
