The problem was that Brandon had decided I wasn’t allowed to choose.
I shifted my feet.
He noticed.
“What, you’re going to run?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Then he gave my shoulder a small push with one hand.
I moved backward half a step.
It wasn’t enough to knock me down, but it was enough to make everyone nearby understand that the confrontation was becoming physical.
I looked at his hand.
“Don’t.”
He smiled.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t push me.”
He lifted his eyebrows.
“Or what?”
I didn’t answer.
He pushed me again.
Harder.
My shoes scraped against the concrete, and I stumbled backward before catching my balance.
A few students reacted aloud.
Someone near the entrance said, “Come on, man.”
I couldn’t tell who had spoken.
Brandon didn’t turn.
His attention remained fixed on me.
I felt my pulse beating in my ears.
It wasn’t the kind of fear that made everything blurry.
It made everything strangely sharp.
I could see the lines in the sidewalk.
The rough edge of the storm drain.
The white lettering on Brandon’s jacket.
The tight way his hands opened and closed at his sides.
I thought about stepping away.
Then I thought about how quickly he could catch me if he decided to follow.
I wasn’t trying to challenge him anymore.
I was trying to find a safe way out.
“Enough,” I said.
My voice came out quieter than I wanted.
Brandon leaned forward.
“What was that?”
I swallowed.
“Enough.”
He looked almost offended.
The sandy-haired boy took another hesitant step.
“Brandon—”
“Stay out of it.”
The boy stopped.
Brandon’s eyes returned to mine.
“You think you get to decide when we’re done?”
I felt the wind shift across the sidewalk.
A loose piece of paper moved near the curb.
The metal grate sat only a few feet away.
My five-dollar bill was somewhere beneath it, beyond my reach.
I wanted to say yes.
I wanted to tell Brandon that I had every right to walk away.
Instead, I stood there trying to find a sentence that wouldn’t make the next few seconds worse.
But he spoke before I could.
“Let me tell you why I do whatever I want around here.”
He stepped forward.
I took a step back.
His eyes stayed fixed on me.
“Because no one ever stops me.”
The words made the space around us feel very quiet.
I looked at his friends.
Then at the students watching.
Nobody contradicted him.
And for one terrible moment, I thought he might be right.
The sandy-haired boy was staring at Brandon’s hand.
I saw him glance toward my face, then back toward his friend.
His lips moved as though he were trying to decide whether to speak.
But Brandon was already advancing.
I took another step backward.
“Don’t come any closer.”
He laughed.
“Now you’re giving orders?”
“I’m asking you to stop.”
“Too late.”
I watched his shoulders.
My heart was pounding, and every instinct told me to get away.
I wasn’t thinking about winning a fight.
I wasn’t thinking about impressing the crowd.
I wasn’t even thinking about the missing money anymore.
I was thinking about staying on my feet long enough to leave.
Brandon moved suddenly.
His hand struck my shoulder and shoved me backward.
I staggered, but I managed to keep my balance.
The crowd reacted with a collective gasp.
I lifted one hand instinctively.
“Stop!”
Brandon’s expression hardened.
He looked furious that I hadn’t fallen.
Then his right hand curled into a fist.
For a fraction of a second, I saw the movement beginning at his shoulder.
His elbow shifted.
His weight came forward.
The students behind him seemed to freeze.
I knew what was coming before he finished moving.
And as his fist swung toward my face, I understood that the five dollars had never been the real reason for his anger.
He was furious because I had finally refused to be afraid in the way he wanted.
His fist was already moving.
I had only an instant to react.
Chapter 2: WHEN THE CROWD STOPPED LAUGHING
I moved before Brandon’s fist reached my face.
It wasn’t a planned movement.
I didn’t think about angles or timing, and I certainly wasn’t trying to prove that I knew how to fight.
I simply saw his arm coming and moved my head away from it.
His fist passed beside my cheek.
The sudden rush of air made me flinch.
For a second, neither of us seemed to understand what had happened.
Brandon had expected to hit me.
I had expected to get hit.
Instead, he stumbled half a step forward, his arm extended into empty space.
A sharp gasp rose from the watching students.
I backed away immediately.
“Just stop,” I said.
Brandon turned toward me.
His expression had changed completely.
