I’ve barely said two words to this man before. Whenever I’m sent to his office, he discovers the teacher was the one tripping. There’s no rhyme or reason to the way I’m treated here. So he gives me a fake talking-to and sends me on my way.

I had more than enough reason to put that pencil through Chad’s hand. I’m sick of his shit. Now he’ll mind his own and stop fucking looking at me all the time.

“Chad has been bullying me all year.” My voice is a whisper—it doesn’t capture a modicum of the desperate anger I feel. “And no one cares.”

“I never heard about this.”

“Because you wouldn’t care.”

I am tired of accepting that I have no power. When do I get a chance to retaliate against the things that make me feel angry or dehumanized? When do I get to say when’s when?

Mr. Ross leans back and rubs his hand along his chin. “You’ve assaulted a student. So, you’ll be questioned by the police and given disciplinary action. Chad’s family could press charges.”

“I understand.”

“Now, I’m not a racist—”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“—but you understand you chose violence before seeking help for your bullying problem.”

“No one would have cared—what don’t you hear about no one would have cared?”

“Okay, son, you need to calm down.”

There’s . . . alcohol on his breath. Smells just like that stuff Grady gave me. I’m sure Mr. Ross keeps bottles in his minifridge to make his faculty meetings easier. I can see him in front of a classroom of teachers, when we’ve all gone home, giving some milquetoast antiracism training.

“I got rid of a distraction.” My voice is quiet, but there’s pride in it because at last I’ve taken matters into my own hands.

“Got rid of ?” Ross repeats, and the words make me cringe when he says them.

I could see why Ms. Kingston would be worried about the threat I posed to her class. She should be. There’s a violent edge in me, a snap reflex I didn’t even realize was there. I worked so hard, so long to keep it repressed. But this darkness I’ve pushed down is building to a climax because I’ve left it too long to build in silence. I understand why someone would do what Sawyer did, in a situation where it was the only choice.

No one can touch me. Not even the teachers. Not even the principal.

Mr. Ross looks at the minifridge behind him, like he’s ready to pour a shot of whiskey, and then back to me, like he’s decided against it. “I want to help both of you get past this. But there are rules. And you technically started it.”