Rich Love
Maybe that’s what survival looked like—standing tall in the place they tried to bury you.
By the time I got down to the lobby, the bus was already waiting. Students piled in, loud and talkative. Some laughed. Some were on their phones, updating their statuses about the win. Teachers handed out snacks and water bottles. And J.J.? stood by the bus steps, sunglasses hiding his eyes, arms folded like he didn’t care about anything or anyone.
When I stepped past him, he didn’t speak.
Neither did I.
But I felt his gaze.
And this time—I didn’t flinch.
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