“No.”
Dr. Brooks wrote something in her notebook.
“Thank you. I know these questions can feel repetitive, but they’re part of establishing a reliable record.”
Amara nodded.
“May I ask something?”
“Of course.”
“Does the accusation affect my fellowship application?”
“It could, if the academic review finds credible evidence of misconduct. But no conclusion has been reached. The school will not treat an accusation as a finding.”
Amara’s shoulders relaxed slightly.
“Will my scholarship be affected?”
“No. Your scholarship is governed by separate criteria, and there is no basis to suggest it should be changed because of an unverified allegation.”
Amara looked down at her hands.
“I worked really hard for this.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want people to think I cheated.”
Dr. Brooks leaned forward.
“Amara, I cannot control what every student says. But I can ensure that the school follows a fair process and that no student is punished simply because another student makes an accusation.”
Amara’s eyes stung.
She blinked quickly.
Dr. Brooks noticed but did not draw attention to it.
“Would you like us to contact your mother?”
“Yes,” Amara said. “But I’d rather tell her myself.”
“Certainly.”
Dr. Brooks paused.
“One more thing. You said Madison had access to a photograph of an examination page. Do you know whether it was an actual test question?”
“I don’t know. It looked similar to the material we studied, but I didn’t recognize the exact page.”
“Did you see the photograph clearly?”
“Yes.”
“Would you be able to identify it?”
“I think so.”
Dr. Brooks made a note.
“We’ll ask the mathematics department to compare it with the assessment materials.”
Amara hesitated.
“Dr. Brooks?”
“Yes?”
“Can I ask why Madison would do this?”
The head of school did not answer immediately.
“I can’t know her motive without hearing from her. There may be several explanations, and I don’t want to assume one before we have evidence.”
Amara appreciated that answer.
She had heard too many people explain Madison’s behavior as harmless teasing, competitive spirit, or the inevitable friction between students.
She did not need another adult to invent an excuse.
She needed someone to take the facts seriously.
Dr. Brooks closed her notebook.
“Thank you for coming to me.”
Amara stood.
“Thank you for listening.”
At the door, Dr. Brooks added, “And Amara, the work you’ve done here is not erased by today’s events.”
Amara nodded.
Then she left the office and called her mother.
Denise Johnson answered on the third ring.
“Hey, baby. You on your way home?”
Amara stood beneath the administration building’s covered entrance.
“Not yet.”
“Everything okay?”
Amara looked toward the parking lot, where the last of the students were beginning to leave.
“Something happened at school.”
Denise’s voice changed immediately.