“That made me more angry.”
The honesty surprised her.
Mason explained that as long as Zaria’s success could be dismissed as diversity policy, his assumptions remained safe.
If the school had chosen her for appearances, he did not need to compare himself with her.
If universities wanted demographic stories, Northwestern did not mean anything.
If teachers feared racism accusations, her grades could be explained.
Each excuse protected the same belief.
Zaria did not belong naturally.
“So you kept changing the reason,” she said.
Mason nodded.
“Yeah.”
“Why was it important that I not belong?”
He took longer with that answer.
“My whole family went there.”
“My brothers played sports.”
“I knew everybody.”
“You showed up senior year and people cared what you thought.”
Zaria stared.
“That still doesn’t answer the race part.”
Mason looked down.
“I think I assumed people like me were supposed to be the normal ones there.”
“People like you meaning legacy athletes?”
“Yes.”
“Wealthy kids?”
“Yeah.”
“White?”
Mason was silent.
Then he nodded.
“Yes.”
There it was.
No dramatic slur.
No confession that he hated an entire race.
Something quieter.
He had treated whiteness and familiarity as normal and viewed Zaria as someone whose presence required explanation.
Zaria asked about the bus.
“Why did you push me?”
Mason covered his face with both hands for a moment.
“You ignored me the whole ride.”
“So?”
“I wanted you to react.”
“To what?”
“To me.”
Zaria shook her head.
“And when everyone saw me fall?”
Mason looked ashamed.
“I thought they’d laugh.”
“Some did.”
“I know.”
“Then why punch me?”