I thought I held the power...
...for about half a second.
I was looking at Mark's mom, ready to tell her about Charlie Day.
But I didn't have a chance to say anything. Suddenly, Mark collided with me from the side, and we tumbled hard down the sidewalk. By the time I realized what was going on, I was on my back in front of the cafe. Mark's parents ran to catch up with us from twenty feet away.
And Mark was on top of me, his face just inches away from mine.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" I screamed, struggling to push him off. I felt rage like never before. I braced myself for the blows that I was sure were coming.
But they never came.
Despite the few seconds of violence, Mark wasn't raging too, which confused me. His face was inches from mine.
"I'm sorry-I'm sorry-I'm sorry." The words came spilling out of him in a desperate half-whisper. His parents hadn't caught up with us yet, but he was frantic, "Don't tell them—don't tell them—don't tell them."
He was trying to get the words out before his parents caught up with us. His eyes darted back to them and back to me again. It was almost like fear.
He was crying.
His dad pulled him off me, and his mom helped me to my feet. My knee was banged up, my arm was scraped, and my head was spinning. I looked at Mark. His bandage had come off, and this swollen cut across his face was dripping blood again.
With the waiting crowd outside the restaurant watching, they hustled us across the street to their SUV. Mark's dad had his son's arm gripped so tightly that Mark was grimacing.
His mom sat in the back seat with me; Mark, rubbing his arm where dad had gripped him, sat in the front.
I should have hated him at that moment. Nothing had changed. He'd still tortured the entire school year and half the summer. I told myself I should be happy that they could finally see what he was like.
We drove back to the cabin in silence. I didn't protest. The fight had gone out of me completely.
Somehow, it was gone from Mark, too.
I should have hated him—but I didn't. Why did he tackle me to the ground in front of his parents just to stop me from talking? I kept thinking of his expression when he was on top of me. I knew all of his I'm enjoying beating you up faces. This one, though, was fear.
Ten minutes later, we pulled in front of the cabin and got out of the SUV.
Before he'd even unlocked the cabin door, he looked at Mark with disgust, "I'm always amazed at how stupid you can be."
I wasn't sure if I heard that right. In my entire life, whenever my mom was angry at me, she never called me stupid. Instead, she'd say that I'd made a foolish decision or was acting up.
We walked into the cabin.
"Sit down on the couch," his father commanded.
I sat down immediately, but Mark hesitated, "Please, dad..."
"I'M IN CHARGE! SIT DOWN!"
Mark sat down, and I felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach.
Now it made sense why I'm in charge triggered him.
We got out of the SUV and headed back into the cabin. Mark's dad brought my backpack inside. Then, just like before, they sat us on the couch.
Then came the question again from his mom.
"What was Charlie Day?"
Mark looked down and didn't answer.
I thought about it. I thought about his face again. This was my chance to get revenge for everything he'd done to me. I could tell them about every humiliation. Every beating. Every one of his weird "rules." I could tell them how he'd made me hate going to school. I could tell them how he's made school—and my summer—miserable. And I could show him that he couldn't do anything to stop me from telling them.
The cabin was dead quiet. They were all waiting for me to talk. I didn't look at Mark, but I knew he was looking at me.
He'd threatened me a hundred times not to talk when he assaulted me: If you say anything, you'll regret it. If you say anything, I'll break your arm next time. The warning was always enough for me to keep my mouth shut. But he didn't scare me anymore. I could say anything, and I wasn't scared at all.
In those few seconds that he had me on the ground, he could just as easily have said, don't say anything to them, or I'll break your neck.
I glared at his dad, even though his mom had asked the question. After all, he would be the one who would use everything I said against Mark.
He was waiting for me to say things that would give him a reason to scream at Mark, insult him, and bully him, and he wouldn't care at all that I was sitting next to him. I was still angry at Mark, but I also knew right from wrong.241Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡs8zsD31jr6
And his dad was wrong.
So I shrugged and told him, "It was nothing."
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