Brad starts talking before the second replay ends. “That doesn’t show everything.”
“It shows enough,” Coach Reeves says.
Jake sinks lower in his chair.
You feel a small, savage gratitude toward the random sophomore who filmed it. Usually you hate that instinct in people. Today it might keep you from getting blamed for a fight you did everything possible to avoid.
Mr. Parker sets the phone down slowly.
“Brad,” he says, “you put your hands on another student and prevented her from leaving. Jake, you threw a punch. Emily, regardless of self-defense, physical altercations are still school policy violations.”
You nod.
Of course they are. Institutions love tidy categories. Self-defense lives messily inside rules written for public order. You learned that years ago at tournaments, at schools, in every place where the line between necessary force and visible force gets judged by people who were not there for the threat.
Coach Reeves folds her arms. “She used less force than she could have.”
Everyone looks at her.
She glances at you, really glances, with something like professional curiosity. “A lot less.”
Your face gives nothing away, but inside, a bell rings.
She knows.
