Pandemonium. The word flashes in my head as I spread my arms wide, trying to protect Kerrianne after Spencer shoves her. “You bitch,” he says, to her, to me, to both of us. I brace myself; prepare to take him down with a swift knee to his family jewels, a defensive move that Blair and I learned from a YouTube video. Spencer raises his hands. His nostrils flair like a bull’s, but he backs off.

I turn to Kerrianne. “Are you all right?” Those are the most words I’ve spoken to her since she cornered me in the bathroom at the beginning of the school year, staking her claim on Mason.

“Yeah, thanks.” At least that’s what I think she says. It’s growing louder by the second and there’s more pushing and shoving. Suddenly, a piercing voice overpowers all others. “STOOOOOOP!”

Cade.

And to my surprise, people quiet down like Cade hit a mute button.

But what’s even more surprising is what happens next. Heather grabs my hand, raises it up. She begins to sing “Hallelujah,” a song she sang with the RHS choir during the holiday concert that Cade and I attended. I take Daniel’s hand and lift it high, and suddenly, in a chain reaction, people join in.

Only a minute ago, the hallway reverberated with shouts—and now it reverberates with song. More and more people clasp hands, add their voices. Chills shoot down my spine as I join in on the one-word chorus. For a brief moment, my eyes connect with Heather’s. A soft smile curves on her lips as she pours her soul into the lyrics. I’m in awe of her and the power of music.

When we finish, Heather breaks the silence by calling out, “Hey, everyone, that song was written by Leonard Cohen, and in case you didn’t know it, he was Jewish!”

Mr. Bartley makes his way through the crowd, pushing an elderly man in a wheelchair. The man wears a baseball cap that says “World War II Vet.” It’s decorated with pins. Mr. Bartley opens his classroom door and ushers everyone in.

I move to the side and wait for Cade.

Now that the chaos has calmed down, it occurs to me that Mr. Bartley has let us down again. Why wasn’t he here waiting for us? He knew how contentious things have been, and with the debate scheduled today, wouldn’t it have been logical for him to greet students and usher us into his classroom? Couldn’t he have had someone else, like Miss Wather or a student, escort the veteran? This entire scene never would have happened if he had been here. Logic and common sense is exactly what’s been missing from this entire assignment.

He betrayed us, eroded my respect for him day after day, and even though I’m willing to hear him out, all the excuses, all the platitudes, and all the apologies in the world won’t change this fact: Although the assignment will soon be a part of my past and eventually I hope to forgive Mr. Bartley, nothing, nothing will ever be the same. I will never forget this. I will never, ever be able to step into his classroom or any classroom without being on guard. It’s a bitter pill, and Mr. Bartley shoved it down my throat.

Cade comes over. We take two steps into the classroom when Cade freezes. I follow his gaze. There’s a Nazi flag on the Smart Board. I look over at Cade. A small vein bulges along his neck. I wave my pointer finger between us and mouth, You walk. I walk. I walk. You walk.

He nods, his expression grim.

Our desks are arranged in a circle facing each other. Cade and I take the two closest to the door. Toward the front of the room, there’s a one-chair gap, and that’s where Mr. Bartley locks the wheelchair in place.

I look closely at Mr. Bartley. It’s hard for me to believe that I used to hang on every one of this man’s words.

Mason and Jesse huddle together a few feet away from Cade and me, their voices low, angry. Mason looks ready to explode, but then Mr. Bartley steps in. “Mason, Jesse. Take a seat. I want the two of you sitting next to each other.”

“Why?” Jesse asks, furious.

Mr. Bartley holds up his hands, palms an inch from each other. “Because I’m this close to sending both of you to Principal McNeil’s office and having you expelled for fighting. Prove to me you can behave like gentlemen and I’ll give you a stay of execution.”

Mason glances over at me and takes a seat. We haven’t said a word to each other since the day he helped me remove the hateful Post-it notes. I need to talk with him. Even though I apologized, it doesn’t seem like enough. Rumor has it that he broke up with Kerrianne, but since she sits next to him, I’m not sure that’s true. Jesse grudgingly fills the chair on Mason’s other side, but scoots as far over as he possibly can.

The veteran has a penetrating gaze. He seems to be sizing up our class. He probably was a drill sergeant, and I get the sense that he’s not impressed. I’m not impressed, either. My faith in Mr. Bartley slips to below zero. From the way Cade’s angled toward the door, I’m pretty sure he’s set to bolt and that the only thing keeping him chained to his seat is me.

Notably, Daniel is absent. I’m not sure where he disappeared to after the protest.

There are two empty desks, and—no surprise—they are on either side of Spencer. One should have been for Reg, but rumor has it he’s been suspended or expelled. No one knows why or if they do, they’re not talking.

Mr. Bartley stands to the right of Spencer, resting his hands on the back of that empty chair. He looks at each of us, exuding authority like an army commander. Earlier, I thought he was furious. But that doesn’t come close to the controlled anger he radiates now.

When the silence is nearly unbearable, Mr. Bartley says, “I made a grave error in judgment. I’m canceling the Wannsee Conference debate. Please get out your papers and pass them to me.”

I close my eyes for a brief moment. After all this time, he finally, finally gets what we’ve been saying all along. It’s not a victory. It’s sad and pathetically long overdue.