And like every coward with power, I needed someone smaller to stand on.
That someone was Evan Brooks.
The Boy Everyone Looked Past
Evan sat in the back row. Always.
Wore uniforms that had clearly lived another life before him. Sleeves a bit too short. Shoes cleaned carefully, but never new.
He walked like he was apologizing for existing.
Every day, he carried his lunch in the same way: a thin brown paper bag, folded twice at the top, stained with oil marks from simple food. He held it like something fragile.
To me, he looked like an easy target.
My Favorite “Joke”
Recess became my stage.
Every day, same routine. I’d grab the bag from his hands, hop onto a bench, and raise it high.
“Let’s see what luxury meal the scholarship kid brought today!”
Laughter exploded.
I fed on it.
