I remembered those words whenever someone tried to provoke me.
Especially now.
Brody leaned closer, bringing the sharp smell of inexpensive body spray with him.
“You think getting a scholarship because you can answer test questions makes you better than everybody else?”
“No.”
“Then why were you staring at Sarah?”
I blinked.
Sarah Whitmore was a student in my advanced mathematics class.
She had auburn hair, a thoughtful expression, and an almost stubborn belief that people should be treated fairly.
We’d spent several afternoons working together in the library.
That was apparently enough to offend Brody.
He had been dating Sarah for eight months, although lately they seemed to spend more time arguing than enjoying each other’s company.
“I’m not looking for trouble,” I said.
Brody’s smile widened.
“Well, that’s unfortunate.
Because trouble already found you.”
The crowd cheered.
I could see Sarah sitting halfway up the bleachers, her arms folded tightly against her chest.
She wasn’t smiling.
Neither was Owen.
I wondered how many others had understood that this wasn’t an ordinary argument.
Because something had happened three days earlier.
Something Brody probably believed I’d forgotten.
Sarah and I had been reviewing records for the school’s annual academic and community service awards.
Sarah served on the student activities committee.
I helped maintain its volunteer-hour spreadsheet because, according to our faculty adviser, I had an unhealthy affection for identifying errors in numerical data.
Most mistakes were innocent.
A missing date.
A duplicated student identification number.
A decimal entered in the wrong column.
But one set of records had been different.
Eleven wrestling team members had received credit for volunteering at a Saturday community food distribution event.
I remembered that Saturday.
I’d volunteered there myself.
The building had been closed because of a water leak.
The event never happened.
Yet the records listed forty-eight hours of combined service and carried Coach Miller’s electronic approval.
Sarah had noticed the discrepancy first.
“That’s strange,” she’d murmured, turning her laptop toward me.
We checked the dates twice.
Then we checked the facility’s cancellation notice.
The entries remained impossible.
Sarah wanted to speak to the activities director immediately, but I suggested we verify everything before making assumptions.
It wasn’t our job to accuse anyone.
It was our responsibility to make sure the records were accurate.
Unfortunately, Brody had walked into the library while we were discussing the spreadsheet.
He’d seen Sarah leaning beside me.
He’d heard her mention the wrestling team.
And his expression had changed.
“What are you two doing?”
“Checking the volunteer records,” Sarah answered.
Brody had stared at the laptop.
Then at me.
“Stay out of team business, scholarship boy.”
I’d said nothing.
Sarah had told him to stop.
He left without apologizing.
The following morning, someone wrote CALCULATOR in black marker across my locker.
A day later, three wrestlers followed me through the cafeteria, repeating the nickname and asking whether I was planning to get anyone in trouble.
I’d ignored them.
That was how I usually survived Westbridge.
By refusing to become part of someone else’s entertainment.
Now, standing in the gym with Brody’s fist wrapped around my collar, I realized ignoring the situation might no longer be enough.
“Get on your knees,” he demanded.
I looked at him.
“What?”
“You heard me.
Apologize for staring at Sarah.”
He leaned closer.
“Or we’ll see how far you can slide across this floor.”
Behind him, the chanting grew louder.
Thirty voices.
Then more.
A dozen cameras pointed toward us.
My heartbeat accelerated, but I kept my breathing even.
In through my nose.
Out slowly.
My arms remained relaxed.
I didn’t stare at Brody’s shoulders or his fists.
Instead, I watched his forward foot.
Mr.
Sato had once told me that angry people often announced their intentions with their balance long before they moved.
Brody shifted his weight.
His heel settled against the floor.
His right arm drew slightly backward.
Across the gym, Coach Miller continued typing on his phone.
I waited.
Then I did the last thing anyone expected.
I brought my feet together.
Carefully, without jerking away, I eased my hoodie collar from Brody’s loosened fingers.
And I bowed.
Once.
A small, respectful bow.
Exactly as I’d been taught before stepping onto a training mat.
The chanting faltered.
Several students laughed uncertainly.
Brody stepped backward, staring at me as though I’d suddenly started speaking another language.
“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
I raised both hands, keeping my palms visible.
“You still have one final chance to walk away.”
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Brody laughed.
It wasn’t a particularly convincing laugh.
“You think you’re some kind of martial arts expert?”
“No.”
“You think you can embarrass me in front of everyone?”
“I’d rather go to class.”
His smile disappeared.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
He rushed toward me.
