The ball hit me harder than I expected.
For a second, I saw nothing but white light.
Then I heard it.
Laughter.
Dozens of voices.
Mocking. Pointing. Recording.
I bent forward, pretending to fix my shoes, just so they wouldn’t see my eyes filling with tears.
Edwin was smiling.
Proud of himself.
Like he had just won something.
I slowly stood up.
My head was still spinning.
But something inside me was spinning faster.
Anger.
Shame.
Years of swallowing everything.
“Hey, Brown,” someone whispered, “don’t make a scene.”
I almost didn’t.
Almost.
But then I remembered every time they laughed.
Every time they pushed.
Every time I stayed silent.
I looked straight at Edwin.
He stopped smiling.
For the first time… he looked nervous.
“Relax, man,” he said. “It was just a joke.”
A joke.
That word burned.
Before I could answer, Coach Miller’s whistle cut through the field.
Sharp. Loud. Final.
Everyone froze.
Coach walked toward us, slow and serious.
“What’s going on here?” he asked.
No one spoke.
Not Edwin.
Not me.
Not the crowd.
Coach picked up the ball.
Then he looked at Edwin.
“You threw that on purpose, didn’t you?”
Edwin tried to laugh.
“It slipped.”
Coach didn’t smile.
“Office. Now.”
The field went silent.
Edwin’s face turned pale.
He walked away without another word.
Coach turned to me.
“You okay, Brown?”
I nodded.
But my voice shook.
“Yes, sir.”
Later that day, Edwin was suspended.
Three weeks.
No games.
No practices.
And he had to apologize in front of the whole team.
When he stood in front of me, his eyes were down.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“I shouldn’t have done that.”
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t dramatic.
But it was real.
I nodded.
“I accept it.”
Something changed after that.
They stopped laughing.
They stopped filming.
They stopped treating me like I was invisible.
And I learned something too.
Staying silent protects bullies.
Standing up… protects you.
