Rebel
It happened fast, and I wasn’t even watching.
I was across the field working the wrist-release drill Timothy had corrected into me, and Tristan was in the ring on the far side taking his turn against Osric, and I had my back to it.
I heard the crowd change first. That’s the sound that gets you — not the impact, but the noise a group of people make when something goes wrong, the sudden collective intake, the groan, the ugly hush after.
By the time I turned, Tristan was down and not getting up.
I don’t remember crossing the field. I remember arriving at a dead run, and shoving a boy out of my way hard enough that he sat down, and finding Tristan on his side in the dirt with his face gone the color of wet paper.
“Don’t move him,” someone said.
“I’m not an i***t,” I said, and knel
