How are things at work? A pause. The landlord called again, said he's getting more complaints about disturbances. I tried explaining about the bullying, but she sighed heavily. Don't you worry about it.
Focus on your studies. We'll figure something out. That evening, Ayana pushed through the doors of Kingdom MMA gym. The familiar smell of sweat and leather wrapping around her like a comfort blanket. Coach Rivera nodded as she wrapped her hands.
"Heard about what happened at school? " he said, holding the heavy bag steady. "Remember what I taught you about fear? " Ayana threw a combination of punches, each one sharper than the last. "Fear is just energy waiting to be used. " "That's right. Channel it. Control it. " He adjusted her stance slightly, but don't let it control you.
For two hours, Ayana lost herself in the rhythm of training. Jab, cross, hook, sprawl, sweep, mount. Each movement helped clear her mind, rebuild her confidence. Other fighters stopped to watch her work, impressed by her intensity. "You're getting stronger," Coach Rivera said as she finished her final round both inside and out.
Ayana smiled, unwrapping her hands. Thanks, coach. I needed this today. Anyone gives you trouble. You know we've got your back here.
He gestured around at the other fighters, many of whom nodded in agreement. This is your sanctuary. The walk home was dark but peaceful. Ayana felt centered, her muscles pleasantly sore. The stress of the day had melted away under the physical exertion.
She was three houses away from home when she heard the crash. Her mother stood on their front lawn, phone in hand, staring at their living room window. Shattered glass glittered on the carpet inside. A brick lay among the fragments, a paper wrapped around it with rubber bands. Mom.
Ayana ran to her. Are you okay? I'm fine. I was in the kitchen when it happened. Her mother's voice shook.
I've called the police. Ayana carefully picked up the brick, unwrapping the note. The same messy handwriting. Last warning. Back off or worse is coming.
Two police cars arrived with their lights off. The officers seemed more annoyed than concerned. Barely glancing at the brick or note. Probably just kids playing pranks, one officer said, not even bothering to take out his notepad. Kids playing pranks.
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.
Or what? Tyler stepped closer. You'll attack me again. Go ahead. My father's lawyer would love that.
Madison appeared from around the corner, phone raised. Say cheese, Ayana. The hallway filled with other students drawn by the noise. Some had their phones out recording. Ayana saw the trap closing.
They wanted her to react to give them more ammunition. Instead, she pushed past Tyler and helped Marcus to his feet. His eye was swelling shut. Blood trickling from his nose. "This isn't over," Tyler called after them as they walked away.
"Tell your boy to watch his back. " The nurse's office was empty, except for an ancient ice pack and some band-aids. Ayana helped Marcus clean up, her hands shaking with rage and fear. "I'm sorry," Marcus whispered, wincing as she pressed the ice pack to his eye. "They jumped me when I was getting my lunch from my locker. Said they knew about the evidence we'd been collecting.
Don't apologize. This isn't your fault. The vice principal appeared in the doorway, arms crossed. Mr. Reed, Miss Johnson, care to explain this situation.
Tyler Prescott and his friends attacked Marcus. Ayana said, "There are witnesses, videos. From what I understand, there was a scuffle between students. Unless Mr. Reed wants to file a formal complaint.