What hurt was the deliberate way Sloane had turned an innocent mistake into a public humiliation.
Hazel looked briefly toward her classmates.
A few seemed uncomfortable.
Nobody intervened.
She could almost imagine what would happen if she revealed the truth about her family.
She could mention Adrian Whitlock.
She could explain that her father was an influential businessman, too.
She could tell Sloane that there were expensive sports shoes at home that Hazel had simply chosen not to wear.
For one fleeting moment, the idea tempted her.
Not because she wanted to boast.
Because she wanted the laughter to stop.
But another thought immediately followed.
If she needed her father’s wealth to make Sloane respect her, then Sloane would never have respected Hazel at all.
She would have respected a surname.
A business connection.
A possibility that humiliating the wrong girl might have consequences.
Hazel didn’t want that kind of respect.
She wanted Sloane to understand that treating someone badly was wrong regardless of who that person’s parents happened to be.
So she said nothing about her family.
She simply adjusted her grip on the volleyball and spoke quietly.
“I’ll stay on my side.”
It should have been enough.
Sloane had been given an apology, and Hazel was already prepared to move away.
But the captain leaned closer, her expression hardening.
“You should stay off the court altogether.”
Hazel felt those words more deeply than the earlier remarks about her clothes.
For months, she had worked toward being strong enough to participate in ordinary school activities again.
She had endured the frustration of slow recovery and the exhausting uncertainty of wondering whether she was making progress.
Returning to the court mattered to her.
Every practice represented something she had regained.
Sloane couldn’t possibly know how much effort it had taken Hazel to stand there that afternoon.
Yet she was telling Hazel to leave as though her presence itself were an inconvenience.
Hazel’s throat tightened.
She wanted to explain.
She wanted to tell Sloane that the court was not a place reserved for the strongest or wealthiest students.
But the laughter around them made her suddenly tired.
And she understood that Sloane wasn’t looking for an explanation.
She was looking for a reaction.
Hazel wouldn’t give her one.
Without answering, she turned away and began walking toward her designated practice area.
For a few seconds, she believed the confrontation was over.
She had apologized.
She had refused to argue.
She was leaving.
There was no reason for anything else to happen.
But behind her, Sloane remained where she stood.
The captain watched Hazel walk away with the loose volleyball.
Her jaw tightened.
The other girls’ attention was still focused on her, and the expression on her face suggested that Hazel’s refusal to respond had bothered her more than an angry reply would have.
Sloane was accustomed to controlling how these encounters ended.
She could make someone apologize, become embarrassed, or lose their temper.
Hazel had done none of those things.
She had simply walked away.
Near the court, an equipment cart held several volleyballs.
Sloane reached into it and selected another ball.
One of her teammates, Brooke Ellis, noticed the movement.
Brooke had been standing close enough to hear the disagreement.
She had watched Hazel apologize and had seen her turn toward the other side of the gym.
There was no active rally.
No competitive point.
No reason for Sloane to aim at the girl who was already leaving.
Sloane took three quick steps backward.
Brooke’s stomach tightened.
“Sloane,” she warned.
“Don’t.”
It was a warning given before the ball was thrown, before Hazel fell, and before anyone could claim the incident had been an unavoidable accident.
But Sloane wasn’t listening.
She planted her feet.
Her right shoulder drew backward.
Her arm rose into the familiar position she used when preparing a powerful overhand strike.
For a fraction of a second, she looked directly toward Hazel.
Then she launched the volleyball.
Hazel never saw it coming.
She had already turned away from Sloane and was concentrating on reaching the other side of the marked practice area.
Her thoughts were still tangled around the confrontation.
She was trying to ignore the embarrassment.
Trying to steady her breathing.
Trying to convince herself that the afternoon hadn’t been ruined.
Then she heard a sudden sharp sound behind her.
Before she could turn, something struck her face.
The impact was immediate and disorienting.
Pain flashed across her nose and forehead.
Her vision blurred, her feet slipped, and the gym seemed to tilt beneath her.
She instinctively raised both hands toward her face.
But she was already falling.
Her back met the hardwood with a heavy thud.
For a moment, Hazel could barely understand where she was.
The bright overhead lights swam before her eyes.
