"That's messed up," Imani said.
"My brother thought it was elite," Lila said. "Then he failed one and decided it was sadism with a thesaurus."
Imani almost laughed. Almost. "Dean Wexler emailed my mom."
Lila's face tightened. "About climate?"
"About channeling."
"Same animal, different collar," Lila said, and then softened. "For what it's worth, I think you did the brave thing. Brave things here get meetings."
Imani wanted to ask whether Lila would say that in front of teachers. She didn't. Friendship at Halberd often came with location settings.
In English class they discussed a story about a girl who told the truth and lost a kingdom. The teacher, Ms. Orth, asked what the story valued more: honesty or survival. Hands went up for survival. Imani kept hers down. She already knew what she valued. She did not yet know what it would cost.
Between periods she overheard two eighth graders by the water fountain.
"—the sixth grader who corrected Ellery—"
"—my cousin said she's on aid—"
"—doesn't mean she can—"
Imani walked past without turning her head. Heat climbed her neck. She was not on financial aid; Rhea's salary and a grandparent trust covered tuition in a tight, careful weave. The rumor did not need to be true to do work. It needed only to travel.
She texted her mother from a bathroom stall, against school policy and according to necessity:
People are saying things.
Rhea replied at once:
Document. Do not debate in hallways. I love you. We go in Friday at 3:30.
Friday. The fit conference wearing better clothes.
---
Thursday evening Rhea printed the email chain, Imani's reconstruction of the board problem, and a photocopy of Imani's solution work from her notebook. She laid them on the kitchen table like exhibits.
"We are not going in angry," Rhea said. "Anger is honest and sometimes useful. It is also a gift they know how to refuse. We go in precise."
Imani sat cross-legged on the chair. "What if they move me down a track?"