Mrs. Gable grabbed my ear and dragged me across the room while I cried out — she had no idea my dad was watching everything.

His father’s donations to the school were worth more than my dad made in ten years.

And everyone knew it.

The Boy Who Couldn’t Fight Back
“Please,” I gasped, struggling to stay upright on the polished linoleum floor.

“Mrs. Gable… it hurts. I didn’t do it.”

“Silence!” she snapped.

Her grip tightened.

Pain shot through my head.

I cried out just as my foot caught a yellow wet-floor sign left by the janitor.

I crashed to the ground.

Knees first.