not to hear insults. I had let Mason decide when I could speak, where I could stand, and how quickly I needed to move. I had done all of it hoping he would eventually lose interest. Instead, he had become more certain that my boundaries didn’t matter. Now those boundaries were the only thing I had left to defend. I wasn’t thinking about teaching him a lesson. I wasn’t imagining cheers or applause. I didn’t want revenge. I wanted him to stop grabbing me. That was all. The simplicity of it helped me focus. I kept my shoulders relaxed. I watched his hands instead of his expression. I made sure my feet were steady on the floor. Around us, the bus grew quiet enough that I could hear the faint sound of voices outside the open doors. Mason seemed to notice the silence, too. His eyes moved over the students watching him. He was accustomed to laughter. Now, people were waiting. He looked back at me. “You’re really going to make me move you?” I swallowed. “Please don’t touch me.”
For a brief instant, something passed across his face. It might have been hesitation. It might have been annoyance that I still wasn’t giving him the response he wanted. I couldn’t tell. Then he reached for my collar. His hand came forward quickly, fingers opening toward the fabric of my hoodie. I reacted before he could close his grip. I moved slightly aside and guided his reaching hand away from my body. It was a small, instinctive movement. I didn’t strike him. I didn’t twist his arm. I only kept him from grabbing me. But the effect on his expression was immediate. The mocking smile vanished. His eyes widened. For the first time, he looked at me as if he had genuinely failed to predict what I would do. Somebody gasped behind him.
The student holding the phone leaned forward. I stepped back enough to put a little space between us. My heart was racing. I had expected Mason to laugh again. Instead, he stared at his own hand. Then he looked at me. His cheeks flushed. I could see embarrassment turning into anger. He glanced toward his friends, and I knew exactly what he was thinking. They had seen it. The whole bus had seen it. He had reached for me, and I had stopped him. I wished he would understand that nothing else needed to happen. He could sit down. I could sit somewhere else. The driver would return, and the bus could go home. It would have been such an ordinary ending. But Mason wasn’t looking for an ordinary ending.
He was looking for a way to make the students forget that he had been surprised. His hands clenched. His shoulders shifted forward. One teammate took a quick step back. I saw the movement and understood what was coming. “Mason, don’t,” I said. He didn’t seem to hear me. “YOU LITTLE—” His voice cracked with fury. Then he lunged toward me with both arms outstretched. I had barely enough time to move. And this time, Mason wasn’t reaching for my backpack.
