Simone nodded slowly. "One day. But if they try anything else, we're going straight to the principal. Promise me."
"I promise, Mom."
Across town, in the empty parking lot of a closed convenience store, Trent paced between Kyle and Brent's cars. The security light cast harsh shadows across his face, which was twisted with rage.
"He made us look like idiots," Trent spat. "Some nobody transfer student."
"He's got training," Brent said, rubbing his shoulder where he'd landed. "Like serious training."
"I don't care if he's got Olympic training." Trent snapped. "Nobody does that to us. Nobody."
Kyle leaned against his car, arms crossed. "What are we going to do? We can't jump him again. He'll just do that... whatever that was."
"No." Trent's voice turned calculating. "We need to be smarter. We need to destroy him where he can't use his little karate moves."
"How?" Brent asked.
"The championship game," Trent said, a cruel smile forming. "The whole school will be there. Parents, teachers, everyone."
"What are you thinking?" Kyle straightened up, interested.
"We push him. Not physically. We make him snap, get in his head, make him lose control. But this time, we make sure everyone sees him as the aggressor. The violent black kid attacking the team captain."
Brent nodded slowly. "Classic."
"Exactly." Trent's smile widened. "We'll need the whole team in on it. Push him all game. Little things the refs won't catch. Then at halftime, we make our move."
Kyle finished. "And this time..."
Trent's voice hardened. "We make sure everyone sees exactly what we want them to see."
The three stood in the harsh security light, plotting their revenge. While across town, Jamal lay in bed, the weight of Marcus's video heavy on his phone and his conscience.
The next morning, whispers followed Jamal through Jefferson High's hallways. Students who had started to smile at him now turned away, huddling in small groups that fell silent as he passed. In first period English, he noticed how his usual seat near the front was now surrounded by empty desks. Marcus caught his eye from across the room, giving him a grim nod.
"I heard he just snapped," a girl whispered loudly behind him. "Like totally lost it on Trent and the guys."
"My cousin's on the team," another voice added. "Said he went crazy in the locker room, started throwing people around."
Jamal kept his eyes forward, his mother's words echoing in his head: Stay calm. Stay focused. But his hands clenched under the desk as the whispers continued.
Between classes, Trent and his friends worked the crowds like politicians, their voices carrying just enough for Jamal to hear. "Yeah, we were just changing after practice," Trent told a group of cheerleaders, touching the shoulder he'd landed on. "Out of nowhere, he just attacked us. Three guys at once."
"Probably thought we were disrespecting him or something," Kyle added, shaking his head. "You know how they get."
The 'they' hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Jamal walked past, jaw tight as Trent raised his voice. "Someone needs to do something before he really hurts somebody."
By lunchtime, the cafeteria had become a minefield. Jamal sat alone, the nearest tables conspicuously empty. Even the lunch ladies served him with wary glances, as if he might vault over the counter at any moment. In chemistry, his lab partner asked to switch groups. "Nothing personal," she mumbled, not meeting his eyes. "Just, you know."
The teachers were subtler, but no less clear in their changed behavior. His math teacher, who had praised his work just days ago, now barely acknowledged his raised hand. In history, when Trent knocked Jamal's books off his desk accidentally, the teacher simply looked away.
After school, Simone made her third call to the principal's office. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Price," the secretary said, "but Mr. Thompson is in meetings all day again."
"He's been in meetings for 2 days straight." Simone's voice was steel-wrapped silk. "My son is being harassed and the principal can't spare 10 minutes?"
"I'll add you to his call list," the secretary offered weakly.
"You do that," Simone replied. "And please remind Mr. Thompson that documentation of all my attempts to reach him has been noted."
The next morning brought more of the same, but worse. Someone had scratched 'thug' into Jamal's locker door. In gym class, no one would pick him for teams, forcing the coach to assign him and then benching him the entire period. During passing period, Jamal heard Brent loudly telling someone, "My dad's a lawyer. He says with Jamal's violent behavior, the school could be liable if they don't do something. Like, what if he attacks a teacher next?"
The words followed Jamal home where he found his mother waiting in the living room. One look at her face told him she'd heard everything.
"Baby, come sit." She patted the couch beside her.