“What’s the grossest thing you’ve done for an A+?”

When Professor Clayton asked me to come to his house for dinner to discuss my final grade, I knew exactly what that meant. The guy had been staring at me all semester with those creepy divorced dad eyes. And now he wanted his shot.

But I needed that A+ to graduate with honors and get into law school.

I put on my shortest skirt and the push-up bra that made me look like I had actual cleavage. My roommate Sarah watched me get ready with her mouth hanging open. I told her it was just dinner to discuss my grade, but we both knew better.

Professor Clayton was in his forties with gray streaks in his beard and always wore those wool blazers that smelled like mothballs. He’d lean over my desk during exams and breathe on my neck while checking my work.

The drive to his house took twenty minutes and I spent the whole time practicing my excuse to leave early. I’d tell him my roommate was having a crisis or that I had food poisoning. Something believable but urgent.

My hands were shaking when I rang the doorbell.

A woman answered. Not just any woman, but a gorgeous blonde in yoga pants holding a dish towel. Behind her, I could see a normal living room with family photos on the walls and toys scattered on the carpet.

“You must be Violet,” she said with a huge smile. “Arthur’s told us so much about you. Come in, come in.”

My brain couldn’t process what was happening. This was Professor Clayton’s wife. He had a wife. A hot wife who seemed genuinely happy to see me.

I stood there in my hooker outfit, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot. Did these people want a three-way?

“Arthur, Violet’s here,” she called out.

Professor Clayton appeared from the kitchen wearing an apron that said KISS THE COOK. He looked at my outfit and his eyebrows went up, but he didn’t say anything gross. Instead, he shook my hand like we were at a business meeting.

“Violet, thanks for coming. This is my wife, Janet, and this is our son, Andy.”

That’s when I noticed the kid in the wheelchair by the TV. He looked about seventeen with the same dark hair as his dad, but his body was twisted in ways that made it clear he couldn’t control his muscles properly. An oxygen tank was attached to the back of his chair with tubes running to his nose.

“Hi, Violet,” Andy said.

His speech was slow and took effort, but his eyes were sharp and focused. He was wearing a Spider-Man t-shirt that matched the one I had at home.

We sat down for dinner, and I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. I still thought maybe they were swinging or wanted me to join some weird cult, but dinner was just normal pot roast and vegetables while they asked about my classes and career plans.

Andy tried to ask me about the new Marvel movie, but talking seemed to exhaust him.

Finally, over dessert, Professor Clayton cleared his throat.

Here it comes, I thought. The weird proposition that would make sense of this whole night.

“Violet, we invited you here because we need a favor,” he said. “Andy’s prom is next week, and he doesn’t have a date.”

I stared at him, then at Janet, then at Andy, who was looking at his plate like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“We know it’s a lot to ask,” Janet jumped in. “But Arthur said you wear superhero shirts to class and love the same movies Andy does. We thought maybe you’d consider it. Just as friends, of course.”

My face burned with shame. Here I was dressed like I was going to work a street corner, and these people just wanted someone to take their disabled kid to prom. Professor Clayton must have mentioned me because I was one of the only students who’d be nice enough to say yes.

“I’ll pay for your dress and everything,” Professor Clayton added quickly. “And dinner wherever you want to go.”

Andy finally looked up at me.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “I know it’s weird.”

Something about the defeat in his voice made my chest tight. I thought about all the proms I’d gone to with my quarterback boyfriends and how I’d taken it for granted that someone would always want to go with me.

“I’d love to go with you,” I heard myself say.

The next week flew by. Janet took me dress shopping and we found this gorgeous blue gown that covered everything my outfit hadn’t. Andy and I texted about Marvel theories, and he was actually funnier than most guys I knew.

When prom night came, I felt weirdly excited. The dance itself was at a hotel ballroom downtown. Andy looked sharp in his tux, even sitting in the wheelchair. We slow danced with me kind of swaying while holding his hands. Other kids stared, but Andy didn’t seem to notice or care. He was too busy explaining why Iron Man’s arc reactor should have killed him with radiation poisoning.

Around ten, some kids from my economics class invited us to an afterparty. I almost said no, but Andy begged me to go. He’d never been to a real party before.

Against my better judgment, I agreed.

The party was at some rich kid’s house with no parents home. I parked Andy by the pool and went to get us drinks. When I came back five minutes later, a group of football players were standing around him laughing. One of them was holding Andy’s oxygen tube.

That’s when I saw Andy shaking violently in his chair and smelled the unmistakable scent of marijuana coming from his oxygen tank.

I lunged forward and ripped the oxygen tube from Braxton’s hand while Andy’s face was turning purple. The tube hissed as clean air started flowing again, but Andy kept shaking bad.

I screamed for someone to call 911 while the football players just stood there laughing like this was some big joke. Braxton was still holding his joint and grinning at me like he’d done something clever.

I grabbed his letterman jacket with both hands and shoved him backward as hard as I could. He went straight into the pool with a huge splash while I dropped to my knees next to Andy.

The smoke was still hanging around his face, so I waved my hands trying to clear it away. His body kept jerking in these scary spasms, and his lips looked blue, even in the pool lights.

The other players backed away when they saw Braxton thrashing in the water.

I kept one hand on Andy’s shoulder to steady him while yelling that Braxton was going to jail for this.

Someone must have actually called because I heard sirens getting closer.

The paramedics rushed through the backyard gate with their equipment bags and went straight to Andy. They put a new oxygen mask on his face and checked his pulse while asking me what happened. I explained about the smoke in his oxygen line while they loaded him onto a stretcher.

They moved fast but careful, keeping his head stable while wheeling him to the ambulance.

I climbed in the back with them and held Andy’s hand while one paramedic started an IV. My hands were shaking as I called Janet from my phone. She answered on the second ring, sounding happy until she heard my voice crack. I told her Andy was on the way to the hospital and something bad happened at the party.

She said they’d meet us there and hung up.

The paramedic kept checking Andy’s oxygen levels and writing stuff on a clipboard. Andy’s eyes were closed, but he squeezed my hand a little, which made me feel better.

At the hospital, they rushed him straight through the emergency room doors while I had to stay in the waiting area. I paced back and forth in my blue prom dress, feeling sick to my stomach. Other people stared at me, but I didn’t care.

Professor Clayton and Janet burst through the doors about ten minutes later, looking terrified. Janet ran straight to me and pulled me into this tight hug, even though I felt like this was all my fault. She kept asking if I was okay while Professor Clayton went to the desk demanding information about Andy.

A police officer showed up and asked me to give a statement about what happened. I sat down with him in a corner and told him everything I could remember. I gave him Braxton’s full name and described exactly how he was holding the oxygen tube when I found them.

The officer wrote everything down and asked for other witness names. I listed every person I recognized from the party, even if I wasn’t sure they saw what happened.

My phone started going crazy with notifications from kids who were at the party. Someone had already posted a video that showed part of what happened by the pool. You could see Braxton standing over Andy’s wheelchair and hear people laughing in the background.

I screenshot everything before it could disappear, my fingers shaking as I saved each image and video. More messages kept coming in—some asking if Andy was okay and others calling me dramatic. I ignored the mean ones and kept saving anything that looked like evidence.

The officer gave me his card and said a detective would probably want to talk to me later.

After what felt like forever, a nurse came out to talk to us. Her name tag said Gita Marcato and she had this calm way of talking that made me feel less panicked. She explained that forcing pot smoke through Andy’s oxygen line could have caused serious respiratory failure. His lungs were already weak and the smoke could have shut down his breathing completely.

She said I acted fast, which probably saved him from worse damage. Andy would need to stay for monitoring for at least twenty-four hours to make sure his oxygen levels stayed stable.

Janet started crying with relief that he was going to be okay.

We all sat in these uncomfortable plastic chairs while Professor Clayton filled out insurance paperwork. After a while, Janet asked if she could talk to me alone in the hallway.

We found a quiet spot near the vending machines where she told me she had doubts about the party. She wanted Andy to have normal teenage experiences, but her gut told her it was a bad idea. Her voice cracked when she said she should have trusted her instincts.

I told her this wasn’t her fault at all. It was completely on Braxton and those other jerks.

She hugged me again and we both stood there crying a little.

I excused myself to go to the bathroom where I locked myself in a stall and finally let everything hit me. Standing at the sink washing my face, I stared at myself in the mirror in this fancy prom dress. I thought about that first dinner at their house and why I really went. The shame of thinking Professor Clayton wanted to sleep with me felt so small now compared to what Andy went through.

I promised myself right there that I would make this right for him, no matter what it took.

When I came back out, Sarah was waiting in the lobby looking worried. I’d texted her earlier and she’d driven straight there to pick me up. On the ride home, I told her everything that happened from the party to the hospital.

She got so mad about what Braxton did that she had to pull over for a minute to calm down. She said she’d back me up completely if I wanted to file official reports or whatever I needed to do.

Having her support made me feel stronger about what I knew I had to do next.

The next morning, I walked into Assistant Principal Ross Cleary’s office with my phone full of screenshots and videos from the party. His office smelled like old coffee and those pine tree air fresheners that never really work. He sat behind his desk looking uncomfortable before I even started talking.

I laid out everything that happened at the party, showing him the videos people had posted. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead like he had a headache.

“Look, Violet, boys will be boys,” he said. “Maybe they were just being stupid teenagers who didn’t think things through.”

My face got hot and I could feel my hands shaking. I told him they could have killed Andy by forcing smoke through his oxygen line. He shifted in his seat and said he’d look into it, but suggested maybe Andy just couldn’t handle being at a party.

I left his office wanting to punch something.

Back in my dorm, I pulled up Sailor Quinn’s number since she was the one who hosted the party. She answered on the third ring and her voice got quiet when I told her who was calling. I asked if she saw what happened to Andy by the pool.

There was a long pause before she admitted she did see Braxton holding the oxygen tube. She said she was horrified but scared to say anything because Braxton’s friends would make her life hell.

I told her Andy could have died and she started crying. She said she’d think about talking to someone official, but she was really scared.

After we hung up, my phone started blowing up with notifications. Braxton’s friends were posting about me online, calling me dramatic and saying Andy couldn’t handle a little joke. They tagged me in memes about snitches getting stitches. Someone posted my dorm room number with a crying baby emoji before deleting it five minutes later.

I screenshot everything before it disappeared.

My roommate Sarah saw the posts and told me to be careful walking around campus alone.

Three days later, I drove to Andy’s house to check on him. Janet let me in and led me to his room where he was propped up in bed with his laptop. He looked tired but smiled when he saw me. I sat in the chair next to his bed and asked how he was feeling. He told me his chest still hurt and talking made him cough sometimes.

Then he looked right at me and said he wanted to file charges against Braxton. His voice was steady, even though I could see how much effort it took to talk.

“I’m tired of people thinking my disability makes me less than human,” he said. “We spent an hour going through everything that happened while I took notes.”

That night, Professor Clayton left me a voicemail that I played three times. His voice sounded strained, like he was holding back serious anger. He thanked me for protecting Andy, but warned me to be careful about the videos I’d been sharing. He said there were privacy laws that could get complicated if we weren’t careful. He also mentioned that Braxton’s family had money and connections.

I could hear papers rustling in the background and Janet’s voice asking him something. He ended by saying we needed to do this the right way to make sure it stuck.

Finals were starting in a week, but I couldn’t focus on studying. Instead, I sat at my desk writing out a detailed timeline of everything that happened at the party. I listed every person I could remember being there, what time things happened, who said what. My economics textbook sat unopened while I filled three pages with notes.

Every detail mattered because I knew Braxton’s side would try to twist the story. I wrote down what Andy was wearing, where exactly by the pool it happened, how long I was gone getting drinks. My hand cramped from writing so much, but I kept going.

Two days later, Detective Adam Coffey called me to set up an official interview. He had a deep voice and sounded like he was taking this seriously, which was more than Ross Cleary had done. We met at the campus police station where he asked me to go through everything again while he recorded it.

He asked specific questions about who was holding what and when. He wanted to know if anyone else had videos or photos. I gave him all the screenshots I’d saved and the names of everyone I knew was there. He said he’d be interviewing other witnesses over the next few days.

When I left the station, I felt like we were finally making real progress.

That evening, Sailor texted me out of nowhere with a video file attached. She said she hadn’t posted this one anywhere because it was too clear. I opened it and my stomach dropped.

The video showed Braxton holding Andy’s oxygen tube while another guy blew smoke directly into it. You could see Andy’s face turning red and his body starting to shake. The timestamp showed it was taken right before I came back with the drinks.

I immediately forwarded it to Detective Coffey with all the metadata intact. He replied within minutes saying this was exactly what they needed.

A week later, Ross Cleary’s secretary called to tell me there would be a disciplinary panel hearing. Word spread fast around campus that Braxton’s parents had hired some expensive lawyer from the city. Suddenly, kids who were at the party started changing their stories. People who had told me they saw everything were now saying they didn’t really see anything clearly. The guy who took the first video said his phone was too far away to show what really happened.

Even some kids from my economics class who invited us to the party were backing away from getting involved.

That same day, Janet sent me an email that made my chest tight. She thanked me for protecting Andy and standing up for him when it mattered, but she also asked if we could try to keep things low-profile for Andy’s sake. She was worried about him being known as “the disabled kid who got attacked at a party” for the rest of his life. She wanted him to have a normal college experience next year.

I understood her concern, but felt conflicted about staying quiet when Braxton was still walking around campus like nothing happened.

The next morning, I stood outside Professor Clayton’s office for ten minutes before knocking because I needed that recommendation letter for law school. But everything felt weird now.

He looked up from grading papers and motioned me to sit down while pushing his glasses up his nose. I explained that I needed the letter based only on my academic work and nothing else and watched his face change as he understood what I meant.

He nodded slowly and said he’d write it focusing on my test scores and class participation, and we both knew things between us would never be the same.

Three days later, Janet called me crying because Andy was back in the emergency room after waking up unable to catch his breath properly. I drove to the hospital still wearing my pajama pants and found them in the same waiting room as before.

The doctor explained that Andy’s lungs were still irritated from the smoke exposure and any stress could trigger these episodes for months. Janet held my hand while we waited for test results and I realized this wasn’t just about one bad night anymore.

The next week in my economics class, this guy named Tyler made some comment about me taking charity cases to prom for extra credit. I stood up in the middle of class and told him that making fun of disabled kids wasn’t funny and maybe he should focus on his failing grade instead.

The professor had to call for a break, but afterward, three other students came up to thank me for saying something. Tyler avoided me for the rest of the semester, which was fine by me since he smelled like gym socks anyway.

Detective Coffey called that afternoon saying he’d gotten a judge to sign subpoenas for everyone’s phones from the party. Within two days, he had seventeen more videos, including ones showing faces clearly and audio of people laughing while it happened. He sent me copies of the court documents showing how many people had been recording and posting and deleting evidence afterward.

The digital trail was way bigger than anyone thought, with some videos already shared hundreds of times before being taken down.

Ross Cleary scheduled a meeting with me and Janet at his office where he suggested we could handle this quietly without courts. He proposed having Braxton write an apology letter and do fifty hours of community service at a disability center as punishment.

Janet looked tired and said maybe that would be enough to avoid putting Andy through a trial, but I couldn’t stay quiet.

I told them that letting Braxton off easy just taught him that hurting people had no real consequences if your parents had money.

Cleary shifted in his chair and said we should think about what was best for everyone involved, including the school’s reputation.

That night around eleven, my phone buzzed with a text from Andy that made my hands shake. He wrote that he remembered more from that night, including Braxton leaning down and calling him “a waste of oxygen” right before everything went dark.

He said Braxton told him nobody would care if he stopped breathing because he was already basically dead anyway. Andy said he hadn’t told his parents yet because he didn’t want to upset them more, but needed someone to know.

I screenshot the messages and added them to my folder of evidence while trying not to throw my phone at the wall.

Two days later, I was walking past the student union when Braxton appeared with two of his football buddies flanking him. He blocked my path and said his dad knew the district attorney and nothing was going to happen no matter what videos I had. He smirked and said I should focus on graduating instead of playing detective for some “vegetable” kid who couldn’t take a joke.

I kept my face calm and my hand steady as I pulled out my phone and started recording without him noticing. He kept talking about how his lawyer would destroy any case and how nobody cared about one weird kid getting pranked at a party. I let him finish then walked away without saying anything while making sure the whole conversation was saved to my cloud storage.

Professor Clayton caught me after class the next day and asked if we could talk privately in his office. He closed the door and stood by his desk looking uncomfortable as he apologized for putting me in such an awkward position with the dinner invitation. He said he realized how it must have looked to me and that he should have been clearer about his intentions from the start.

He rubbed his beard and said he felt terrible about the whole misunderstanding and wanted to make sure I knew he never meant anything inappropriate.

I sat there for a minute then decided to just tell him the truth about why I dressed that way for dinner. I explained how I thought he wanted something else and had prepared myself to deal with it for my grade.

His face turned red and he covered his eyes with his hand while we both sat there cringing at how badly we’d both misread the situation. After a long silence, he said we should keep things strictly professional from now on, and I agreed immediately.

He promised my recommendation letter would focus only on academics, and we shook hands like business partners sealing a deal.

Later that week, Sailor found me in the library and sat down looking nervous about something. She said she’d been thinking about testifying at the disciplinary hearing but was scared of what Braxton’s friends might do to her.

I told her Detective Coffey could arrange for campus security to be present and make sure she was protected from any retaliation. She bit her lip and said she’d do it if she could have someone with her for support during the testimony. We spent an hour going over what she remembered and writing it all down so she’d feel prepared when the time came.

The hearing was scheduled for Monday morning in the admin building, and I showed up early wearing my most serious outfit. The conference room had a long table with five panel members already seated, shuffling through papers and looking uncomfortable.

Ross Cleary sat at one end, avoiding eye contact, while the others included two professors I recognized and two people from student affairs. They’d set up a laptop to show the videos and had printed copies of all the statements we’d submitted.

Andy’s written statement was on top of the pile, three pages typed by Janet since he couldn’t hold a pen steady enough to write it himself. The panel chair started by reading it out loud, and I watched two of the members’ faces change as they heard Andy describe being called a “waste of oxygen” before everything went dark. One professor put her hand over her mouth when the statement described how he woke up in the hospital, not knowing if he’d ever breathe normally again.

They played the first video next, the one from Sailor’s phone that showed Braxton holding the oxygen tube while smoke poured into Andy’s mask. The room went completely silent except for Andy’s recorded gasping sounds.

Then they played the second video someone else had sent me, showing the football players laughing while Andy shook in his chair. The student affairs woman looked like she might throw up.

Just as they were about to call the first witness, the door opened and a man in an expensive suit walked in carrying a briefcase. He introduced himself as Braxton’s lawyer and immediately asked for the hearing to be postponed since there was an active criminal investigation. He argued the school shouldn’t take action until the legal process played out, throwing around terms like “due process” and “potential liability.”

The panel members looked at each other nervously, and Ross Cleary jumped on the suggestion like a lifeline. After twenty minutes of discussion, they voted to adjourn until the criminal case was resolved, which the lawyer said could take months.

I left the building wanting to punch something.

Detective Coffey called me that afternoon while I was stress-eating ice cream in my dorm. He explained that the district attorney’s office had reviewed the case and Braxton would most likely face misdemeanor reckless endangerment charges, not felony assault like I’d hoped.

The maximum penalty would be a year in jail, but more likely probation and community service. He said proving intent for felony charges was harder when alcohol was involved, and juries sometimes saw these things as “pranks gone wrong.”

I hung up feeling defeated.

That night, I couldn’t sleep, so I opened my laptop and went to our campus Reddit page. I created a throwaway account and typed out everything that had happened, from the prom to the hospital to the hearing getting postponed. I didn’t use real names, but gave enough details that people would know who I meant.

Within an hour, the post had fifty comments, and by morning, it was the top post with over three hundred. Half the comments supported Andy and called for justice, while others said I was overreacting to a harmless prank.

But then, people started sending me private messages saying they’d seen other incidents with the same football players. One girl said Braxton had dumped a kid’s wheelchair off a ramp the previous year. Another person had video of him mocking a student with a speech impediment.

The campus newspaper picked up the story and suddenly parent Facebook groups were sharing it everywhere. Moms were posting about their own kids with disabilities and demanding the school take action.

The local news called asking for interviews. Even some football players started speaking up, saying Braxton had crossed a line and didn’t represent the team. A linebacker named Armand posted that his little brother had cerebral palsy and what Braxton did was disgusting.

Two days later, the athletic director sent an email to all students announcing Braxton was suspended from the football team pending the outcome of the investigations. It wasn’t enough, but at least it was something. His name came off the roster and his locker got cleared out.

Some of his friends tried to start a petition to reinstate him, but it only got twelve signatures.

The next week, Detective Coffey called with better news. The district attorney had filed formal charges and Braxton had been arrested that morning. His parents posted bail within hours, but at least there was an official record now. The case would move forward, even if slowly. He had a court date set for next month and would have to enter a plea.

Meanwhile, I still had finals to deal with.

Professor Clayton had submitted my recommendation letter to the law schools without mentioning anything about Andy or the whole situation. He kept it strictly about my academic performance and research skills.

I managed to get through my exams even though my brain kept wandering to everything that had happened. Somehow, I maintained my grades, getting the A I needed in Clayton’s class and passing everything else.

Three weeks after the first hearing, the disciplinary panel sent another email saying they were reconvening. Braxton’s lawyer couldn’t stop them this time since formal charges had been filed.

The hearing lasted two hours with Sailor testifying about what she saw and three other witnesses confirming Braxton’s involvement. The panel announced their decision that afternoon.

Braxton was suspended for a full year and banned from all campus events, including graduation. He’d have to complete two hundred hours of disability awareness training before being considered for readmission. His parents threatened to sue, but their lawyer must have told them they didn’t have a case.

The best news came from Janet in a text saying Andy was finally feeling better and talking about maybe joining the adaptive debate club next semester. He’d been so depressed after everything, but now he was making plans again, looking at the course catalog and asking about accessibility in different buildings. She said he even laughed at a Marvel meme I’d sent him—the first time he’d laughed since prom night.

Two weeks later, the school set up this mediation session where Braxton had to apologize to Andy face to face. We all sat in this sterile conference room at the admin building with a mediator who kept checking her watch like she had somewhere better to be.

Braxton showed up in a suit with his parents and their lawyer, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. He read this prepared statement about how sorry he was for his actions and how he understood the severity of what he’d done. His voice was flat and he kept looking at his lawyer instead of Andy.

Andy just sat there in his wheelchair listening, his face totally blank. When Braxton finished, the mediator asked if Andy wanted to respond, but he just shook his head. The whole thing took twenty minutes and they made us sign papers saying the apology had been delivered.

Janet gripped my hand so hard it hurt while Professor Clayton’s jaw stayed clenched the entire time. The lawyer made sure everything got documented and recorded, saying it would help with the criminal case.

That night, we all met at Clayton’s house to talk about what came next. Janet made pasta, and we sat around their dining table trying to figure out boundaries now that everything had gotten so complicated.

Andy said he wanted me to stay in his life as a friend, that I was one of the few people who treated him normal. Professor Clayton cleared his throat and said he appreciated everything I’d done, but understood if I needed distance from their family.

I told them I wasn’t going anywhere, that Andy was my friend now and that wasn’t changing.

We agreed I’d come over once a week to watch movies with Andy, and that Clayton would keep our professor-student relationship strictly professional.

Sarah and I stayed up until three in the morning that night, talking about everything. She’d been there through all of it, bringing me food when I forgot to eat during the hearings and letting me cry on her shoulder when it got too heavy.

She told me she was proud of me for standing up for Andy when it would have been easier to walk away. I admitted I’d learned more about myself this semester than in all my other years of college combined.

She said watching me fight for Andy made her want to be braver, too, to stop staying quiet when she saw wrong things happening.

The next morning, I got an email from my top choice law school saying I was on the wait list. My grades were good enough, but they had limited spots and tons of qualified applicants.

I spent the whole day writing an addendum to my application about how this experience with Andy showed me why I wanted to be a lawyer. I wrote about seeing how the system failed disabled people and how I wanted to help change that.

I sent it off hoping it would make a difference, but trying not to get my hopes up too much.

Three days later, the disability advocacy group on campus asked me to speak at their community forum. My hands shook as I stood at the podium in front of about fifty people, mostly parents and students with disabilities.

I talked about what happened at the party and how important it was to step in when you see someone vulnerable being hurt. I explained how the football players thought Andy was less than human because of his wheelchair and how that kind of thinking was dangerous.

My voice cracked when I described finding Andy blue and shaking, but I pushed through.

After I finished, a mom came up with tears in her eyes and thanked me for protecting someone’s child when they couldn’t be there. A guy in a wheelchair rolled up and said he wished more people understood that disabled doesn’t mean worthless.

The next week, Sailor found me after my economics final. She pulled me aside and thanked me for having her back during the investigation when Braxton’s friends were pressuring her to stay quiet. She said she’d been scared to lose her social standing, but watching me fight made her realize some things were more important than popularity.

We exchanged numbers and she said she wanted to stay in touch, that we’d both been changed by what we saw that night.

A few days later, Ross Cleary sent out an email to all students announcing new policies for school events. All chaperones would now need training on students’ medical needs and emergency response procedures. Any student with medical equipment would have a designated safe zone at events where they couldn’t be separated from their devices.

It wasn’t enough, but at least the school was admitting they’d failed to protect Andy. The policy changes would help future students even if they came too late for him.

Detective Coffey called the next week with news about Braxton’s case. The district attorney had offered a plea deal and Braxton’s lawyer had accepted. He’d get two years probation and two hundred hours of community service specifically with disability organizations. He’d also have to do mandatory counseling about respecting vulnerable populations.

Coffey said it wasn’t prison time, but it was documented accountability that would follow Braxton forever. If he messed up during probation, he’d face real jail time. The judge had to approve it, but Coffey said that was basically guaranteed given the evidence.

Two months after everything started, Andy invited me over to watch the new Marvel show. We sat in his living room eating popcorn while he explained all the Easter eggs I was missing. There was no awkwardness anymore, just two friends hanging out and arguing about whether the show was better than the movies.

Janet brought us cookies and Clayton waved from his study, but otherwise they left us alone.

Andy laughed at my terrible theories about where the plot was going, and I helped him when his hands cramped up from holding the popcorn bowl.

Three months after that first dinner at Clayton’s house, I was checking my email between classes when I saw it. The law school had accepted me off the wait list for the fall semester. My addendum about Andy must have made the difference because they specifically mentioned my commitment to advocacy in the acceptance letter.

I called Andy first and he cheered so loud his mom came running to check if he was okay.

The next few weeks brought news about Braxton that I never expected to hear. Andy texted me one afternoon saying kids from his therapy group had seen Braxton at the disability center doing his community service hours. They said he was actually helping feed some of the younger kids and didn’t seem angry about it anymore.

Andy said we’d never be friends with him, but maybe the experience was teaching him something.

I ran into Janet at the campus coffee shop a month later and she told me she’d started volunteering with the disability advocacy group that formed after what happened. She was helping them push for better training for campus security and party monitors. We sat together for twenty minutes while she showed me the new policies they were proposing. She squeezed my hand before leaving and said having something positive to focus on was helping her process everything.

Professor Clayton asked me to stay after class one day to discuss my senior thesis proposal. He marked up my draft with helpful notes and suggested three books that would strengthen my argument. There was no weirdness between us anymore, just a normal professor helping a student who wanted to learn.

He even wrote me a second recommendation letter for a scholarship I was applying for. The professional boundaries were clear now, and somehow we turned that awful first dinner into something actually valuable.

Andy called me screaming with excitement in April because he’d gotten his acceptance letter to our university. He was starting in the fall as a political science major and already had meetings set up with the disability services office about accommodations.

He said watching the system fail him had made him want to fix it from the inside. His mom was already looking at accessible apartments near campus. I helped him register for classes and we picked out two that we could take together.

Sailor found me outside the library to tell me about the new organization she was starting. She’d gotten funding from student government to create a bystander intervention program for parties. She wanted students trained to spot dangerous situations and know how to step in safely.

She said watching me fight for Andy had shown her that one person really could make a difference. The program already had thirty volunteers signed up for the first training session. She asked if I’d speak at their first meeting about recognizing medical emergencies.

Finals came and went, and somehow I managed to keep my grades up despite everything. The day grades posted I had my 3.9 GPA and the honors designation I’d worked so hard for.

My acceptance to the district attorney’s summer internship program came the same week. They specifically mentioned my experience with victim advocacy in the acceptance email. The internship coordinator said they needed people who understood why protecting vulnerable populations mattered. I’d spend the summer working on real cases and learning how the system actually worked.

My graduation day was perfect May weather, and my parents drove up to watch me walk across the stage. Andy rolled up to the reception in his wheelchair that he’d covered in Marvel stickers and superhero decals. He’d added racing stripes down the sides and LED lights under the seat that pulsed different colors.

He grabbed my hand and thanked me for seeing him as someone worth protecting when everyone else just saw his chair. I told him he’d shown me what real strength looked like and that our friendship was the best thing to come out of that whole mess. We took pictures together in our matching Spider-Man shirts that we planned weeks ago.

Sarah helped me pack up my dorm room the next week and we sorted through four years of college stuff. I found the outfit I’d worn to that first dinner at Clayton’s house, stuffed in the back of my closet. Sarah laughed when I held up the tiny skirt, and we both shook our heads at how wrong I’d been about everything.

That dinner invitation that I thought would be my lowest point had actually changed my whole life. I’d gone there ready to do whatever it took for a grade, and instead found a friend who needed help.

Andy and I had plans to see the new Marvel movie next week before I started my internship. Janet was making dinner for all of us to celebrate my graduation and Andy’s acceptance. Professor Clayton would be there, too, probably wearing another mothball blazer and making dad jokes. The whole thing felt like family now in a way I never could have imagined that first night.

Everything that happened after prom had been horrible, but it led to something better. I knew exactly what kind of lawyer I wanted to be now, and it had nothing to do with making money or winning cases. It was about making sure people like Andy had someone fighting for them when the system tried to look away.

My law school orientation was in three months, and I already knew I’d focus on disability law and victim advocacy. The story that started with me dressing like I was headed to work a corner had turned into finding my actual purpose.

Well, folks, that’s it for me today. Thanks for sticking with me and letting me throw my thoughts and questions out there along the way. I really appreciate it. Like the video. It helps more than you think.