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environment when he’s like functionally illiterate.”
    â€œLook at this part,” Alex pointed halfway down the letter. “He asks why can’t we have an Aryan Nations club since we have a GSA now. Holy shit.”
    â€œThis letter makes him look really bad,” Monica said. “He sounds like a Nazi.”
    â€œHe is a Nazi,” Alex said. “Monica, you have to write a response and run this letter with it.”
    â€œNow wait,” Mr. Albrecht said. “We can’t do that. That’s a conflict of interest.”
    â€œWhat? How?” Alex said, his excitement draining.
    â€œMonica is secretary of the Gay-Straight Alliance, and editor of this paper. She can’t criticize someone for their opinion on the GSA if she’s a member of the GSA.”
    â€œThat’s bullshit,” Alex said.
    â€œAlex.”
    â€œMonica is secretary of every club in school,” Alex said. “She’s not even gay.”
    The girl shrugged. “He is right. I just like being secretary.”
    They ran the letter at the end of the month, but with no editorial response. They let the lacrosse player’s letter speak for itself.
    Â 
    The wheels of Alex’s skateboard clicked over slabs of concrete on the sidewalk under a heatless sun. Cars zoomed down the adjacent road. A black Chevy Tahoe roared by. The tires screeched, rubber burning into pavement. The hulking vehicle seized to a stop ahead of Alex.

    Alex pulled his hoodie tight around his face and slowed his skateboard, unsure what to do. The Tahoe’s white reverse lights flashed, and the SUV screeched backward until it stopped next to Alex. Max Weston leaped out of the driver’s seat into the busy road and marched around the front of the SUV. He shoved Alex right off his skateboard. Cars drove around the Tahoe, honking.
    â€œWhat the fuck are you doing!” Alex shouted, jumping up from the grass.
    The lacrosse star picked up the skateboard and threw it at Alex. It hit him in the chest and knocked him off balance. Max shoved Alex as he wobbled. The gangly skater tumbled down an embankment into a heavily wooded ditch.
    â€œThink you’re such a smart faggot?” Max marched down to Alex and kicked him with all his strength.
    Alex rolled into a muddy patch and wheezed for air, clutching his stomach. The ditch blocked the view from the road.
    Max grabbed the skater’s hair and dragged him through the mud, then kicked again. “They want to fucking expel me!” the athlete shouted at the curled-up boy.
    Alex panted and held his muddy palms up toward Max. Wind roared through the trees. “You wrote the email,” Alex coughed.
    â€œThey say it’s fucking hate speech! I’m gonna lose my lacrosse scholarship!” Max got on his knees, sinking into the mud. He slammed his fist into Alex’s face.
    Alex cried out and tried to roll away.
    Max straddled him, squeezing his knees against the skater’s ribs. “Tell them I didn’t write it!”
    â€œFuck you!” Alex groaned, twisting. Blood trickled from a nostril. His hands were pinned under Max’s knees. His face burned and throbbed.

    â€œFucking hell, man!” Max yelled, looking up at the dense swaying treetops, then down at Alex’s bloodied red face.
    The lacrosse star had been crying. Two dried trails ran from his eyes to his thin lips. The two trails terrified Alex more than his fists.
    â€œWhy do you have to be such a faggot?” Max grabbed Alex’s chest, bunching up the skater’s muddy hoodie in his fists like he wanted to rip something out.
    â€œGet off of me,” Alex breathed.
    â€œWhy do you like dick?”
    â€œGet the fuck off of me!”
    â€œWhy are you a faggot!” Max yelled in his face like a machine on repeat.
    â€œFuck you!”
    â€œWhat? You like this, right?” The athlete grabbed the skater’s knees, spread them and slammed his crotch