And if I obeyed, there was no reason to believe he would stop.
I raised my eyes.
“I’m not getting on my knees.”
His jaw tightened.
“You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
“I just want to go home.”
“Then do what I said.”
I shook my head once.
It was a small movement.
It shouldn’t have mattered.
But Brandon looked at me as though I had insulted him in front of the entire school.
Behind him, his friends became quieter.
I noticed that immediately.
When they were laughing, I knew what kind of moment I was trapped in.
When they stopped laughing, I couldn’t tell what would happen next.
Brandon glanced around at the students watching us.
Then he smiled again.
It wasn’t the same smile.
This one was slow and deliberate.
“Okay,” he said.
“Your choice.”
He turned toward the sidewalk.
I watched him take a step away.
For a foolish second, I felt relief.
Maybe he was bored.
Maybe he would throw the money back and leave.
Then I noticed where he was heading.
A storm drain sat beside the edge of the sidewalk, its dark metal grate set slightly below the concrete.
Brandon was walking directly toward it.
The five-dollar bill was still in his hand.
My chest tightened.
“Brandon.”
He didn’t turn around.
I hurried after him.
“Don’t.”
He stopped beside the drain.
The late-afternoon light caught the folded edge of the bill.
He held it above the grate and looked back at me.
“What’s wrong?”
I stopped a few steps away.
“Please don’t do that.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Don’t do what?”
His friends were standing behind him, watching.
The boy with sandy hair shifted his weight.
The other kept his hands in his pockets.
I could hear students gathering behind us, but my attention remained fixed on Brandon’s fingers.
“That’s my bus money,” I said.
He looked at the bill.
Then at the drain.
Then back at me.
“Really?”
I nodded.
“I need it.”
He made a thoughtful expression that fooled nobody.
“Huh.”
He lowered his hand slightly.
I moved forward.
He immediately lifted it again.
“Not so fast.”
I stopped.
He smiled.
“Still got one chance.”
I knew what he meant.
He wanted me on my knees.
I looked at the people around us.
At least a dozen students had stopped now.
Some stood beside the building.
Others had paused on their way toward the gates.
A couple were recording.
I had never felt so visible.
At school, I spent most of my time trying not to draw attention to myself.
I wore the same few clothes, carried an old backpack, and rarely had a reason to speak above the noise of the classroom.
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Now everyone seemed to be looking at me.
And the only way Brandon was offering to end the moment was to humiliate myself for them.
“I can’t,” I said quietly.
Brandon tilted his head.
“Can’t what?”
“I’m not doing that.”
He gave a disappointed little sigh.
“Then I guess you don’t want your money.”
I took another step toward him.
“Wait.”
His fingers opened.
For a moment, the bill floated between his hand and the grate.
I reached forward.
Too late.
The five-dollar bill slipped through the metal bars and disappeared into the darkness below.
I stood staring at the storm drain.
I had expected Brandon to threaten it.
Some part of me had even expected him to pretend to drop the bill, then catch it and laugh.
But I hadn’t truly believed he would let it go.
There was nothing in his expression to suggest regret.
He looked at the grate, then at me, and burst out laughing.
His two friends followed.
I barely heard them.
I stepped closer to the drain and crouched.
The gaps between the bars were narrow, and the space below was too dark to see clearly from where I stood.
I bent lower.
There was a little dirt along the concrete edge, an old leaf caught between two bars, and a faint smell rising from somewhere beneath the street.
But I couldn’t see my money.
I shifted to one side.
Then the other.
Nothing.
I placed my fingers against the metal.
The grate didn’t move.
Behind me, Brandon was still laughing.
“You gonna crawl down there?”
I didn’t answer.
I kept looking.
Five dollars.
It sounded ridiculous when I thought about it beside the buildings and parked cars surrounding us.
Five dollars was less than some students spent on a snack without giving it a second thought.
It was the kind of money people forgot in coat pockets.
The kind of money someone might find beneath a seat and consider good luck.
But I had held that bill carefully all afternoon.
I had checked for it before leaving the auditorium.
