“No.”
“Then why are we all here?”
The Black senior looked at him.
The headmaster entered.
“Because one student was assaulted and publicly humiliated.”
The donor father frowned.
“That seems like strong language.”
The boxing coach was standing near the wall.
She answered:
“A trash container was emptied over her.”
“Then she was shoved.”
“Then her property was kicked.”
The donor father looked toward his daughter.
“Did you shove her?”
“No.”
The blonde looked over.
It had been the blonde who shoved.
The brunette relaxed.
Technical innocence.
The donor father continued:
“Then I fail to see why my daughter is being grouped into an assault.”
The coach said:
“She dumped the trash.”
The father looked toward her.
“She told me it was a prank.”
The Black senior’s hands tightened beneath the table.
The coach noticed.
She walked closer.
Not touching.
Just nearby.
The blonde’s mother finally spoke.
“These are teenage girls.”
“This doesn’t need to become a criminal proceeding.”
The headmaster said:
“It isn’t.”
“Then let's keep perspective.”
Perspective.
The Black senior had learned that word often meant someone important wanted harm made smaller.
The dean opened a folder.
“We’ve requested all available student recordings.”
The blonde’s father frowned.
“You're collecting minors’ phones?”
“No.”
“We asked students to voluntarily send footage.”
The father looked irritated.
“How much footage?”
The dean hesitated.
“A significant amount.”
The brunette turned toward her father.
“What does that mean?”
The dean placed his hands together.
“It means today’s incident appears not to be isolated.”
The room changed.
The Black senior looked up.
The donor father said:
“What exactly are you suggesting?”
The dean looked toward her.
“Would you like to explain?”
Every face turned.
The Black senior hated it.
For months nobody asked.
Now everyone wanted a statement.
She spoke quietly.
“This started the second week of school.”
The blonde rolled her eyes.
The coach saw.
“Don’t.”
The blonde immediately stopped.
The Black senior continued.
“They started following me after chemistry.”
“Why?”
The dean asked gently.
“I don't know.”
The brunette said:
“You acted like you were better than everyone.”
The Black senior looked at her.
“I didn’t know you.”
“You ignored us.”
“You laughed at my braids the first time you spoke to me.”
Silence.
The brunette looked toward her father.
He looked uncomfortable.
The Black senior continued.
“They knocked my books down.”
“They poured juice into my locker.”
“They posted pictures of my shoes.”
The blonde interrupted.
“Everyone posts pictures.”
The coach turned sharply.
The blonde stopped again.
“They called me scholarship girl.”
The dean’s expression changed.
The donor father asked:
“Are you on financial aid?”
The boxing coach stared at him.
The Black senior answered anyway.
“Yes.”