Loudly.
Dramatically.
Cruelly.
Mason’s smile collapsed.
“What’s funny?” he asked.
“Oh my God,” Brielle gasped, clutching her stomach. “Did you actually think I wanted to dance with you?”
The gym erupted in snickers.
A boy near the bleachers whooped.
Brielle raised her voice so everyone could hear.
“I lost a bet. Dancing with you was my punishment.”
A few students laughed harder.
Phones stayed up.
Mason stood in the middle of the dance floor, eyes shining with tears he refused to let fall.
I pushed through the crowd.
“Mason,” I said, reaching him. “Honey, look at me.”
He turned toward me.
“Mom.”
“We’re leaving.”
“No.”
The word came out quiet, but firm.
I froze.
He wiped his face with the back of his hand.
“I’m okay. I just need five minutes.”
“Mason—”
“I promise.”
Something about his face stopped me.
He didn’t look defeated.
He looked focused.
I nodded slowly.
“Five minutes.”
He turned and walked away.
Behind me, Brielle was already high-fiving her friends.
“Did you see his face?” she squealed. “I’m dying.”
Every instinct in me wanted to confront her.
But then I saw where Mason was going.
The DJ booth.
In his hand was a small black USB drive.
My breath caught.
The music cut off.
The gym fell into a strange, ringing silence.
Every head turned toward the stage.
Mason stood there with the microphone in one hand, shoulders squared, face calm.
Behind him, the projector screen flickered on.
“Excuse me, everyone,” he said. “This will only take a few minutes.”
Brielle’s smile faded.
“What is he doing?”
Mason looked directly at her.
“Brielle, before you leave tonight, I think everyone deserves to see what you really planned.”
A slide appeared on the screen.
Brielle screamed.
“Somebody get him off the stage!”
Nobody moved.
The first slide showed a group chat.
Names.
Dates.
Screenshots.
The title at the top read:
Loser Watch.
A parent behind me gasped.
Mason’s voice stayed even.
“This chat has been running for seven months. People in it ranked students, mocked their bodies, shared photos, and planned what they called ‘lessons.’”
He clicked again.
Another screenshot.
Then another.
I saw my son’s name.
I saw words I wish I had never read.
I pressed a hand over my mouth.
“Turn it off!” Brielle shouted. “That’s private! He hacked us!”
“I didn’t hack anything,” Mason said. “Someone in the chat sent these to me. Someone who got tired of pretending this was normal.”
Brielle spun toward her friends.
“Which one of you did this?”
No one answered.
Hannah lowered her eyes.
Brielle stared at her.
“You?”
Mason continued.
“I’ve been working on this with Mr. Avery, the school counselor, since October. This was supposed to be shown at next week’s assembly.”
He paused.
“I wasn’t going to use it tonight.”
The gym was completely silent now.
“But a friend warned me that someone was planning a prank for prom.”
Brielle’s face went pale.
“So I brought this with me. I sat alone at that table. I waited. Because I knew.”
