Two days passed without incident. Then came Friday. Jason came home with a tear in his sleeve and a faint bruise just below his cheekbone. He tried to play it off, but I saw the wince he tried to hide as he pulled off his backpack. It wasn’t the kind of wince that says “I tripped.” It was the quiet kind kids learn when they try to protect someone from how bad something really was. “Jason, honey, what happened?” I asked. He shrugged. “Dylan shoved me… in the hallway.” My heart was already pounding. “Are you serious?” He nodded. “He called me ‘Trailer Trash Avenger.’” I blinked. I wasn’t sure how to respond to something simultaneously ridiculous and cruel. “What did you say back?” I asked.Continue reading…
