I should say something.

As the boy is shoved against the locker, his heart in his throat as the bully taunts and threatens. As he searches desperately for help amongst a sea of equally terrified students.

I keep my gaze on my sneakers smeared with mud and damp grass, praying, hoping, someone else will step forward. Will say something.

But no one does.

I take my time sliding the algebra book into my bag, eyes darting to the scene beside me.

“You go snitching to the teacher again and you're a dead man. Got that?”

The boy frantically nods, his glasses sliding off his nose from the sweat beading his entire face. 

I look away again to snatch up my purple binder, and when my gaze snags again on the bully and the poor guy being tormented, I notice he’s watching me. With that black eye and freshly split lip.

His blue eyes plead, Say something!

I square my shoulders.

And I walk right past.

I should have said something.