No one joined her.
Someone laughed in the video.
The organizer rushed toward the laptop. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize…”
“Leave it up,” I said.
Everyone turned.
I walked toward the screen.
“I want everyone to look at her for a second.”
No one moved.
“Leave it up.”
“She spent four years trying to disappear,” I said. “She changed how she walked, how she laughed, and how she answered questions in class. She learned which halls to avoid and which girls could ruin her day with one look.”
Madison’s face went pale.
I turned to her.
“And ten years later, you still thought humiliating her was entertainment.”
Madison stood. “Wait.”
I pointed at the screen.
“That girl was me.”
“She spent four years trying to disappear.”
A low sound moved through the room.
Ashley covered her mouth.
Brielle stared at the floor.
Madison forced a smile. “Eva, come on. We were kids.”
“I was a kid too, Madison.”
Her smile fell.
“I didn’t know you were still upset,” she said.
“Eva, come on. We were kids.”
“You didn’t know because you never asked.”
“It was just a funny memory.”
“You remembered the laugh,” I said. “I remembered going home in tears.”
Someone near the back said, “That wasn’t funny.”
Another voice added, “It never was.”
Madison looked around, but the room didn’t move toward her this time.
“That wasn’t funny.”
