one. But not finding an answer didn’t stop the questions. The more I asked them, the less confident I became. That was how Mason had changed my school year without ever having a serious conversation with me. A few seconds here. A joke there. A hand on my backpack. A demand to move. One afternoon blended into another until I could barely remember what riding home had felt like before I started worrying about him. Sometimes, after a particularly unpleasant day, I imagined telling someone everything. Not just one incident. All of it. Every seat I had left. Every insult I had swallowed. Every time a boy twice my size seemed amused by the fact that I wanted him to leave me alone. Then I tried to picture how the conversation would sound.
“He keeps telling me to move.” “He laughs when I answer him.” “His friends stand in the aisle.” The words felt embarrassingly small compared with the way those moments made me feel. I worried that someone would ask why I didn’t simply sit somewhere else. I worried that I wouldn’t know how to explain that I had already tried. Most of all, I worried that the conversation would somehow reach Mason and make the next ride worse. So I kept the details to myself. I thought endurance was the safest choice. The afternoon he pulled me to the floor, I was finally beginning to understand its limits. The phone remained raised behind Mason. A small red symbol glowed on the screen. He glanced toward it again, then back at me.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “You don’t have anything to say now?” His voice had changed. He wasn’t joking anymore. He wanted to hear me admit that I couldn’t do anything. I looked at his face. There was a tightness around his mouth that hadn’t been there when he first approached me. My refusal to leave was bothering him. It surprised me how little I had actually done. I hadn’t called him a name. I hadn’t threatened him. I hadn’t pushed him. I had simply told him not to touch me again. Apparently, that was enough to make him angry. I adjusted my footing so my backpack wouldn’t pull me off balance. The movement drew his attention. He laughed through his nose. “What, you think you’re tough now?” I shook my head.
“No.” “Then why are you still standing there?” I could have pointed out that he was the one blocking my way. Instead, I said, “I just want you to leave me alone.” It was a simple request. I had imagined saying it so many times. Now that I had, the words seemed almost too small for everything behind them. Mason stared at me. One of his teammates moved closer to the seat beside us. The boy holding the phone shifted to get a better angle. I felt the weight of their attention. For a brief moment, Mason looked as though he might step back. Then one of his friends laughed. It was a nervous little laugh, not particularly loud. But Mason heard it. His eyes moved toward the sound. When he looked back at me,
the hesitation was gone. He couldn’t leave now, I realized. Not because I was stopping him. Because he had made so much of the confrontation that walking away would feel like losing. I wondered whether he understood that he had trapped himself. I hadn’t challenged his reputation. He had done that by insisting that everyone watch. The students around us were quieter than before. A few whispered to one another. Someone farther back asked what was happening. Nobody answered. Near the front, a younger boy with short brown hair looked over the top of his seat. I had seen him on the bus many times, but we had never spoken. He was younger than I was and usually sat quietly near the front. He rarely joined the loud conversations from the back rows. His face looked unusually tense. I thought he was frightened by the confrontation. It didn’t occur to me that he might understand something about Mason that I didn’t. He lowered his eyes as soon as Mason turned in his direction. I noticed the movement. Then Mason stepped forward again, and I forgot about everyone else. He was close enough that I could see a small crease between his eyebrows. His jaw was set. The teasing smile had become thin and unpleasant. I reminded myself to keep breathing. My knees still hurt. My backpack strap had twisted around my wrist. I loosened it carefully, giving myself enough room to move without letting the bag drop. Mason watched my hands. “You got a problem with me?” I looked at him. “I have a problem with you grabbing me.” His expression
