“They did worse to you.”
“I know.”
“Then?”
The Black senior threw the paper into a real trash can.
“I didn’t spend all semester wanting people to stop humiliating me so I could watch everyone humiliate her.”
The friend became quiet.
The blonde had heard.
She said nothing.
Neither did the Black senior.
They walked in opposite directions.
That evening, the Black senior wondered whether she had done it for the blonde.
No.
Not really.
She had done it because she refused to let cruelty become a team sport just because the teams changed.
That distinction comforted her.
The blonde approached several weeks later.
The Black senior was leaving the library.
The girl stopped at a distance.
“I want to apologize.”
The Black senior’s body immediately tightened.
The blonde noticed.
“I won't come closer.”
Good.
The Black senior waited.
The blonde began a speech.
Clearly rehearsed.
“I’m sorry for the pain I caused and for allowing—”
“No.”
The blonde stopped.
“What?”
The Black senior adjusted the backpack on her shoulder.
“I don’t want this.”
The blonde looked stunned.
“I’m apologizing.”
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“Because I don’t want to help you feel better right now.”
The blonde’s face changed.
“That’s not why.”
“Maybe not.”
The Black senior remained calm.
“But I’ve spent months thinking about you.”
“What you might do.”
“Where you might be.”
“How to avoid you.”
“What I should say if you touched me.”
“I’m tired.”
The blonde looked down.
The Black senior continued:
“You can be sorry without me doing anything with it.”
The girl swallowed.
“Okay.”
The Black senior nodded.
“Okay.”
She walked away.
Her hands shook afterward.
Still.
She felt powerful in a way that had nothing to do with boxing.
A boundary could be a closed door without being revenge.
The brunette approached differently.
Angrier.
Her suspension had complicated college admissions.
A recommendation was withdrawn.
One university requested an explanation.
She found the Black senior outside chemistry.
“You need to tell them it wasn’t that bad.”
The Black senior stared.
“What?”
“My counselor.”
The brunette’s eyes filled.
“They want a statement about the incident.”
“So write one.”
“They’ll believe you more.”
“No.”
The brunette became frustrated.
“You still got your scholarship.”
The Black senior looked at her for several seconds.
Then:
“Do you hear yourself?”
The brunette crossed her arms.
“I’m saying nothing happened to you in the end.”
The Black senior’s expression went completely still.
“Nothing?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No.”
“I don’t.”
The brunette sighed.
“You got everything.”
“You kept college.”
“You won the boxing thing.”
“Everyone supports you.”
The Black senior stepped closer.
Not threatening.
Just present.
“I spent months changing where I walked.”