I thought of Rosie at the kitchen table three weeks ago, with the invitation in her hand.
“Steven’s always been nice in the hallway, Mom,” she’d said. “He told Madison to leave me alone once, in ninth grade.”
I had heard “nice boy” and translated it into something else.
The music cut. The gym fell into that strange, breathing silence only crowded rooms can make. Steven tapped the microphone once.
“Everyone, eyes up here for a second.” He looked directly at Rosie. “Victim. That’s what they’ve treated her like for years.”
Then he pushed the flash drive into the laptop.
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