(MASON'S POV)
The room went dead silent for half a heartbeat. Then the shock took immediate effect like a volcanic eruption. "Mason? Again?" someone hissed from the back-annoyed, almost offended.
"Why is it always Mason?"
"What is he doing that we ain't?"
Someone whispered that last part and I couldn't tell who it was, my brain was too busy shock circuiting.
Mike Evans, star quarterback, resident bully, and walking billboard for homophobia wrapped in daddy's money, straightened up from where he'd been leaning over Victor's desk. He was built like a tank, letterman jacket straining across his shoulders, and he'd been pitching hard the whole time. "Yo, Victor, you sure? Football team's perfect for a guy in your shape. You'd kill it on the field. What's a nobody like Mason got that we don't?" Mike's laugh was sharp, mean. "You even know him, or what?"
