The boy immediately dropped his arms.
“Sorry.”
Zaria walked away.
Tessa caught up with her near the stairs.
“You okay?”
Zaria nodded.
“I’m just tired of being someone’s lesson.”
That sentence described senior year better than anything else.
Mason returned after suspension without the wrestling captain patch on his warm-up jacket. Some students mocked him openly.
One group shoved empty backpacks toward his feet and asked whether he wanted another try.
Zaria heard about it.
She found the students during lunch.
“Stop.”
One stared at her.
“You’re defending him?”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“I’m telling you humiliation does not become good because you picked a person I dislike.”
The jokes stopped.
Mason heard what happened.
He did not thank her.
Zaria did not need him to.
Three weeks before graduation, Mason asked for a mediated meeting.
Zaria refused immediately.
Two days later, she reconsidered.
There was one question she wanted answered.
Why her?
They met in Counselor Naomi Pierce’s office after school. Mason wore jeans and a plain dark shirt instead of athletic gear.
Without teammates, laughter, or a crowd behind him, he looked less intimidating.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Zaria waited.
“For the shove?”
“For everything.”
She folded her arms.
“Then explain everything.”
Mason stared at the carpet.
He said Zaria bothered him almost immediately after arriving because teachers noticed her.
She answered questions.
Won awards.
Joined journalism.
Got into Northwestern.
People kept praising her.
Zaria looked at him.
“You thought it was because I’m Black.”
“At first.”
“And later?”
Mason hesitated.
“Later I knew you were good.”
Zaria waited.