Stephen crouched on the edge of a toilet seat, gingerly picking twigs out his hair and dropping them into the water below him. Once he had picked his hair clean, he checked his bruised skin for blood. Probing a purplish bruise that ran along his wrist and up the back of his hand made him wince. That was the fourth one bigger than an egg and the ninth one overall. Thankfully none of them had even a smidgen of blood so far.

Outside the bathroom window, he heard a clattering of noise and imagined dozens of rocks being thrown against the wall but as the sound grew louder and then softer, he realized that it was just the sound of other kids running by, their shoes slapping against the concrete hallway. Had they found another victim? Was it finally someone else’s turn?

The hail of falling objects was terrifying and painful but the jeering laughs were almost worse. He could run from the sticks and the stones but the cruelty continued to echo in his head.

His heart stopped as the door to the bathroom slammed open.