“Did you see that?” another asks.
“No fucking way.”
Students crowd around us, their phones pointing at me in accusation. Suddenly, I feel like an animal backed into a corner, scared and angry with no way out. My face prickles, hot with shame. Where was everyone whenJasonwas grabbingme?
“What’s going on here?” Our history teacher, Mr. Smith, works his way through the crowded hall. “What happened?”
I turn to him, desperate. “Mr. Smith, Jason grabbed—”
“She cut me,” Jason says, blood trickling down his cheek. “Bitch has a knife.”
I recoil at his words.“What?”
Bright red drops splatter over the tile floor.
Time rewinds around me. The splattered blood becomes a pool, sticky under my slippers as I take a tentative step into my parents’ room ten years ago. Mom lies there, lifeless; Dad stands there, a knife in his hand.
Tears well in my eyes, and the scene blurs.
I’m back in the hall at school again, staring at Jason and Mr. Smith.
I shake my head frantically, trying to rid myself of the memory. “No, I hate knives. I wouldn’t—”
“That’s a very serious allegation,” Mr. Smith says, examining Jason’s bloody cheek. He turns to me, his voice deepening just like my dad’s would whenever he got angry. “Bringing weapons to school is illegal.”
“But I didn’t!”
My gaze darts between the faces of my classmates. Maddy. Jason. All these onlookers.Someonemust have seen what happened. But Maddy looks terrified. They all do.
It takes me a moment to realize what they’re so scared of.
Me.
“Where is it?” Mr. Smith demands. “The weapon?”
“I-I don’t have one,” I say.
But as I stare at my hands, I’m no longer sure that’s true. I may not have held a knife, but hands can be weapons too. So can claws. All my anger evaporates, leaving me cold with terror. Am I finally losing it?
Mr. Smith glares at me. “Go to the principal’s office right now, young lady.”
A weight presses down on my chest until I can barely breathe. This cannot be happening. I’ve always been a good daughter, a good student, a good girl. I kept quiet and smiled and laughed. I made myself small, so small, until it felt like there was nothing left of me.
I did everythingright.
So why are things falling apart again?
“This isn’t like you, Edith.” Principal Matthews is just as large and intimidating as the mahogany desk he sits behind. He’s right. I’ve always been “a pleasure to have in class.” Until now. I lower my gaze, unable to meet his eyes as he continues, “I don’t know what you were thinking, assaulting another student with a weapon.”
When I look up from the desk, I see my dad sitting there.
His eyes hold a threat—the threat that I’m just like him.
I flinch, and Principal Matthews is himself again. “Where is the weapon?”
Tears well up, but I blink them back quickly, not wanting to let him see me cry. “I don’t have one.”
“Wherever you hid it, it doesn’t matter,” Principal Matthews says sternly. “It’s only a matter of time before we uncover it, and even if we don’t, Jason’s wound is evidence enough. Why don’t you just tell me the truth?”
