“He stopped debating after that.”
The cafeteria suddenly felt louder.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She shrugged, but her expression tightened.
“I’m tired of watching people get away with things because they wear the right jersey.”
I looked at the damaged sketchbook.
“Then we need more than a video.”
Maya leaned forward.
“What do you mean?”
“Evans can say he didn’t understand what was happening.
He can say he was going to report it.
He can say the video lacks context.”
“He’d be lying.”
“That’s never stopped anybody.”
She considered that.
“What do you want to do?”
I glanced toward the football team’s table.
Trent sat at its center, laughing with his teammates.
At the far end of the cafeteria, a framed photograph of him hung beneath the words WESTBRIDGE PRIDE.
“I want to give Evans a chance to do the right thing,” I said.
Maya raised an eyebrow.
“You think he will?”
“No.”
“Then why bother?”
“Because I want his answer documented.”
After sixth period, I went to the administrative office.
Maya waited outside.
Principal Evans’s secretary, Mrs.
Holloway, looked up from her computer.
“Can I help you?”
“I need to report an assault and destruction of property.”
Her expression changed.
“Who was involved?”
“Trent Maddox.”
She glanced toward the principal’s door.
Then back at me.
“Have a seat.”
I waited seventeen minutes.
When Evans finally called me inside, he didn’t invite me to sit.
His office smelled of polished wood and expensive coffee.
Photographs of football victories covered one wall.
Behind his desk hung a framed letter from the Westbridge Athletic Foundation.
“Mr.
Bennett,” he said, folding his hands.
“I understand you’ve had a disagreement with another student.”
“Trent destroyed my scholarship portfolio.”
Evans sighed.
“Teenagers sometimes engage in roughhousing.”
“He trapped me against the lockers and tore my work apart.”
“Were you injured?”
“My back is bruised.”
“Did you seek medical attention?”
“Not yet.”
He leaned backward.
“Then let’s be careful with the language we use.”
I placed the torn leather cover on his desk.
He glanced at it without touching it.
“Trent is under considerable pressure,” he said.
“College scouts are attending Friday’s game.”
I stared at him.
“What does that have to do with my drawings?”
“I’m asking you to consider the bigger picture.”
“My scholarship deadline is in twelve days.”
“And I’m sure you can recreate your work.”
“It took eight months.”
Evans’s expression hardened.
“Mr.
Bennett, I don’t appreciate your tone.”
I reached into my pocket and switched off the voice recorder on my phone.
Then I set it on the desk.
“I’d like to submit a formal complaint.”
Evans looked at the phone.
His jaw tightened.
“Were you recording this conversation?”
“Yes.”
“You should have asked permission.”
“Westbridge’s student handbook says students may document meetings concerning their own disciplinary complaints unless confidential information about other students is discussed.”
He stared at me.
I had read the handbook during lunch.
Every page.
Evans leaned forward.
“Let me make something clear.
You are new here.
You don’t understand this community.”
“Then explain it to me.”
His face reddened.
“Trent Maddox has a future.
I won’t allow a misunderstanding to destroy it.”
I stood.
“Neither will I.”
For the first time, he looked uncertain.
I picked up my phone.
“Thank you for your time, Principal Evans.”
He didn’t answer.
Outside, Maya was waiting.
“Well?”
I showed her the recording.
She listened to thirty seconds before looking up.
“He actually said that?”
“Every word.”
Her eyes widened.
“We can publish this.”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because Trent promised he’d find me after seventh period.”
Maya’s expression darkened.
“You’re not seriously going to wait for him?”
“I don’t have to find him.”
I looked toward the hallway.
“He’ll find me.”
At 2:47 p.m., the final bell rang.
Students poured into the corridors.
I walked toward the same row of lockers where Trent had attacked me that morning.
My blue hoodie was still on.
I had considered changing it.
Then I remembered my father’s photograph.
I remembered Evans saying that Trent had a future, as though mine were disposable.
So I kept walking.
Maya stood near the trophy case, pretending to check messages.
Two members of the school newspaper waited farther down the hall.
I hadn’t asked anyone to confront Trent.
I had only asked them to keep their cameras ready.
Above us, the security camera’s green light continued blinking.
Trent appeared with Bryce and Logan.
His expression brightened when he saw me.
“Well, look who’s brave.”
He approached slowly.
“Didn’t I tell you to get rid of that hoodie?”
“I remember.”
“And?”
“I’m keeping it.”
Students began gathering again.
Trent looked around, enjoying the attention.
“You really don’t learn.”
He grabbed the front of my hoodie.
I kept my hands open at my sides.
“Let go.”
“Or what?”
