Ayana's mother's voice rose. They threw a brick through our window. We're being threatened. The second officer cleared his throat. Ma'am, unless you have concrete evidence of who did this.
What about the note? Ayana held it out. It's connected to what's been happening at school. Tyler Prescott and his friends. The Prescott boy.
The first officer's tone changed. Judge Prescott's grandson. Look, young lady. Those are serious accusations. Better be careful about throwing around names like that without proof.
But we have proof. We've been gathering evidence of Ayana. Her mother's hand gripped her arm. Thank you, officers. We'll we'll board up the window tonight.
The police left without filing a report. Ayana helped her mother sweep up the glass, both working in tense silence. The cool night air drifted through the broken window, carrying with it a sense of violation and vulnerability. Maybe we should stop, her mother finally said, voice barely above a whisper. Your safety is more important than no.
Ayana's voice was firm. That's what they want. They want us scared, want us to give up. But I won't. We can't.
Her mother pulled her into a tight hug, and Ayana felt her trembling. "I'm proud of you," she whispered. "So proud, but I'm also terrified. " The next morning felt heavier than usual at Willoughby High. Ayana walked through the halls with her shoulders tense, scanning faces and corners. The broken window at home had left her with little sleep, dark circles shadowing her eyes.
Marcus wasn't at their usual meeting spot before first period. Her texts went unanswered. By lunch, worry gnawed at her stomach. The cafeteria buzzed with its usual chaos. Ayana stood in line, phone in hand, trying Marcus again.
That's when she heard the commotion outside, muffled thuds and voices from the service corridor. Her heart dropped. She knew. Pushing through the double doors, Ayana froze. Tyler and three of his friends surrounded Marcus, who was curled against the wall.
His glasses lay broken nearby. Tyler's Letterman jacket stood out bright red in the dim hallway. Stop. Ayana's voice echoed off the concrete walls. Tyler turned, that familiar smirk playing across his face.
Just having a chat with your friend here, teaching him about loyalty. Marcus groaned, trying to push himself up. A darkening bruise bloomed around his left eye. Get away from him. Ayana's hands clenched into fists, her MMA training screaming at her to act, but she remembered the suspension, her mother's fears, the brick through their window.