“My office, now. Both of you.” The voice speaks again, coming from behind me. Principal Stevens lets go of my arms and I fold forward like a marionette whose strings have been cut, panting as I push my hands into my knees to keep myself upright. I squeeze my eyes shut, try to slow my breathing.

“Now, gentlemen!” Stevens yells, starting down the hall. Expecting us to follow. Us. Tyler.

I open my eyes and take in the scene around me, the last few minutes hazily coming back to me. Tyler is still on the floor, sitting back on his hands. Our eyes lock and he jumps up, wiping his bloody nose on his shirtsleeve.

Oh. The blood on my fist is his.

Fuck. What did I do?

2

ADAM

I can’t believe it’s happening again.

“Out of the way, loser!” Bryce yells from behind me and I clench my jaw, willing myself not to respond. Talking back won’t win me anything.

Neither will passivity, I guess, because seconds later my shoulder is slamming into the lockers as Bryce pushes past me, hard. I try not to flinch when he growls “freak” as he glares over his shoulder at me.

This is a tactic animals use, right? Staying completely still so you don’t trigger a predator’s kill instinct? Fight, flight, or freeze. As Bryce turns his face the other way to talk to Justin, his scowl transforms into a laugh. Maybe he’s laughing at something Justin said, maybe he’s laughing at my expense. At this point, I don’t really care—he’s walking away and that’s all that matters. Freeze has its advantages.

But so does flight. Which is exactly what I do next.

More than halfway through the semester and I’d thought maybe, just maybe, we weren’t going to do this this year. After all, junior year is when everyone else is finally supposed to start taking this whole education thing seriously, right? Focus on acing the SATs, get good grades, build that resume for college apps? Where do these guys find the time to be bullies?

My feet have taken me automatically to the library—my own special defense mechanism. I don’t have the luxury of not caring about my future, so I go inside to get some work done, finding my way to a back corner table that’s almost completely surrounded by bookshelves.

“Are you hiding?”

I look up to see Moses Miller standing in the narrow space between two of the perpendicular bookcases that protect me from the world, shifting his weight from foot to foot—a habit he’s had since elementary school. It makes me feel like I’m on a boat.

“No,” I lie, and he narrows his eyes.