I had grown up with every comfort a family could offer , warm meals, soft beds, people who checked on me in the night. I had never once been shoved to a floor and laughed at. But the one thing my parents had made sure of, through all that comfort, was that I would never let fear make me small. Fear was a tool other people used against you. The moment you showed it, you handed them the lever.
Wisteria was laughing above me, her hand still pressing against the back of my head. She was about my size. That was the only thing I needed to know.
I grabbed her arm, yanked hard, and pulled her off balance. She went down fast, and I went with her, getting on top of her before she could recover. I didn't think. I just swung.
My fist connected with her face, and the laugh stopped.
Silence.
