“I think he’s gonna get back at me, Mom,” he whispered. “Dylan doesn’t lose. And definitely not in front of other kids.” The next morning I watched Jason walk toward the school gate. His hoodie up, sketchbook clutched like a shield, his shoulders squared though his feet dragged just slightly — like he wasn’t ready to face whatever was coming, but he showed up anyway. Brave doesn’t always look loud. Sometimes it just looks like walking in when you’d rather run. I didn’t want to baby him, but I thought about turning the car around and storming into that school myself — not to fight his battles, but to keep him safe. But he didn’t ask for protection. He stood up when it mattered. And I had to let him keep standing.
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