Then the several turned into dozens. Paper tore as people dug through the envelopes, some making off with the letters inside, some pulling out the bills stuffed in. It was a feeding frenzy. More and more people were joining, and I was pushed farther and farther back, and I cried out for people to stop, stop, stop, but my voice was smothered under the ruckus.

One guy grabbed an envelope and started backing away, and another lunged for him, shouting that it was his. They collided against the locker door in a crunch of metal, the first guy hitting it hard with his shoulder and letting out a yelp of pain.

“Hey!” Mr. Elliot materialized out of nowhere and stormed toward us. “Break it up. Enough.”

Kids scattered in various directions.

The envelopes were gone.

The locker was empty.

And its door was bent very slightly out of shape. I tried to push it closed, but it no longer fit snugly into its hole. I took my hand away and it sadly swung a few inches outward.

“What was all that about?” Mr. Elliot asked. I wasn’t sure if he directed the question at me, or the remaining spectators, but thankfully none of them ratted me out.

“Long story,” I said. “We’re fine. Thank you.”

“Yeah, well.” He gave me a suspicious look. “Save the bloodshed for Black Friday sales, got it?”

He continued on to class, and I turned to look at the last few students.

One of them, a girl I didn’t recognize with curly black hair and glasses, raised her eyebrows at me. “I just got here. My letter was in there,” she said, nodding at the empty locker.

Ah.

This.

Wasn’t great.

When I was called to the principal’s office halfway through next period, I was expecting it.

My history teacher, Joan (Mrs. Lobethal to everyone else), came over to my desk and told me to pack up and head over there as quietly as she could. That’s how it was done at our school: the teacher would get an email, and they would tell you to head on over. No P.A. announcements. They didn’t want to shame anyone, as a general rule. I’d agreed with the approach before, but now that it was applying to me for the first time, I was especially grateful for it. The last thing I wanted was for the rest of the school to know my shame.

For Brougham to know.

The classroom burst with whispers as I stood up. Brooke glanced at me sideways, but she didn’t show any emotion. The embarrassment might have been bearable if she’d cared.