“What did he want?”
“To apologize.”
I looked at the wall.
“To you?”
“No.
To you.”
I didn’t answer.
Leah continued.
“He says he knows why Travis kept targeting you.”
My heart began beating harder.
“What does that mean?”
“He wouldn’t tell me over the phone.”
I stood.
“Leah.”
“I know.
It sounds strange.”
“What did he say exactly?”
She hesitated.
Then she answered.
“He said the cafeteria thing wasn’t just about embarrassing you.”
I closed my eyes.
The library conversation returned.
The list.
The warning.
The district review.
Leah spoke again.
“He said someone wanted you removed before the safety hearing.”
Mason came to our apartment the next afternoon.
His mother drove him.
He stood outside our door holding his phone and looking as though he wished he could disappear into the pavement.
Dad opened the door.
Mason’s eyes immediately moved to the cane.
Then to me.
“Hey.”
I didn’t answer.
He swallowed.
“Can I come in?”
Mom appeared behind Dad.
“That depends on why you’re here.”
Mason looked at her.
“I want to tell the truth.”
Dad studied him.
Then stepped aside.
“Come in.”
Mason sat at our kitchen table.
He placed his phone in front of him.
For several seconds, he stared at it without speaking.
Finally, he looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
I said nothing.
He continued.
“I know that doesn’t fix anything.”
“No,” I said.
“It doesn’t.”
His expression tightened.
“I should’ve stopped him months ago.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He looked down.
“Because I was scared.”
“Of Travis?”
He shook his head.
“Of what would happen if I wasn’t on his side.”
I crossed my arms.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Mason took a breath.
“Football is everything at Westbrook.
You know that.”
I nodded.
“Coach Bennett decides who starts, who gets recommended to colleges, who gets extra training.
If you’re not on his good side, you’re basically invisible.”
I watched him.
“And Travis?”
“Travis is his son.”
“I know.”
Mason leaned forward.
“Then you know why nobody wanted to challenge him.”
I thought about the locker room culture, the school posters, the principal’s speeches.
Travis wasn’t simply popular.
He was protected by an entire system built around winning football games.
Mason rubbed his hands together.
“After that freshman got sick during summer conditioning, everything changed.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Jamie?”
He nodded.
“Some of the parents were furious.
The district started asking questions.”
“I know.”
“Coach said somebody was trying to ruin the program.”
I stared at him.
Mason continued.
“He kept talking about a witness.
Somebody who’d seen what happened.”
My mouth went dry.
“Me.”
Mason nodded.
“Travis told us you were making things up.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you believe him?”
Mason looked away.
“At first.”
I felt an old anger stirring.
He continued.
“Coach kept saying the whole thing was being blown out of proportion.
He said Jamie had been careless.”
I remembered the water station behind the locked gate.
The pale face of the freshman lying beside the bleachers.
The frantic expression on the school nurse’s face.
I remembered how afraid I’d been to write down what I’d witnessed.
“Jamie almost lost his life,” I said quietly.
Mason nodded.
“I know.”
Then he looked at me.
“That’s why I came.”
He unlocked his phone.
“There are messages.”
He opened a group conversation.
I recognized Travis’s profile picture.
It showed him standing beneath the stadium lights with his football helmet tucked under one arm.
Mason scrolled.
There were dozens of messages.
Jokes about me.
Photographs taken without my permission.
Suggestions about hiding my backpack.
Then one message made my breathing stop.
Make sure he swings first.
It had been sent by Travis.
Another message followed.
If he gets suspended, he can’t show up Tuesday.
I stared at the screen.
Tuesday.
The district safety review.
Mason watched my face.
“There’s more.”
He opened another conversation.
This one contained a screenshot of a message Travis had apparently sent privately.
Dad says the kid needs a disciplinary incident on his record.
I looked up.
“His father told him to do this?”
Mason hesitated.
“I don’t know exactly what Coach said.
Travis made it sound like he was supposed to make you lose control.”
My mother gripped the back of a chair.
Dad’s expression became very still.
I looked at Mason.
“And the twenty dollars?”
He swallowed.
“Travis wanted proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“That you attacked him.”
I stared at him.
“He planned to start a fight and make it look like I was responsible?”
Mason nodded.
“He said if we recorded the right part, you wouldn’t be allowed at the hearing.”
For several seconds, I couldn’t speak.
I thought about the cafeteria.
The chair.
The kick.
The moment Travis rushed toward me.
