My eyes lock with Harley. He's standing at the end of the chapel, and he's the only one not laughing. He's the only one who can read the cold, dead calm in my eyes. He doesn't call out to help the girl who's touched me. He just stands witness. Good. Let him watch. I swing the textbook that's in my arms and listen to the satisfying crunch as Harlow Roqueford’s nose breaks, shatters completely under the sheer force of my swing.
