Ariel approached his table slowly, deliberately. Devon? He glanced up, eyes guarded. Yeah, can I sit? Devon shrugged, but shifted his backpack to make room.
Ariel settled into the chair across from him, noting how he angled his body away slightly. A habit she recognized from her own years of staying defensive. "I saw what they did to you, " Devon said quietly, not looking up from his drawing with the bleach. "I know what they did to you, too, " Ariel replied. "Last year, the art supplies.
" His pencil stopped moving. "That was different, was it? Ariel opened her notebook. They accused you without evidence, suspended you without investigation, made you out to be the troublemaker. Devon finally met her eyes.
How do you know all that? Because I've been watching, recording everything they do to students like us. She slid the notebook toward him. And I think you've been watching, too. Devon's expression shifted as he scanned her careful documentation.
His shoulders straightened slightly. "Yeah, " he admitted. "I keep track, too. In my head, mostly some in here. " He tapped his sketchbook.
"Show me. " He hesitated, then flipped through his book. Between detailed drawings were notes scribbled in margins, dates, names, incidents. Marcus got suspended for threatening behavior when he just asked why the teacher kept calling him Mexican when he's Salvadoran. Jasmine lost her spot on the debate team after questioning the coach's bias.
Tyler, I need it all. Ariel said everything you've seen. Everyone who's been targeted. Devon studied her face. Why now?
Because they thought bleaching my hair would make me invisible. Instead, it made me see everything clearer. She leaned forward. You know others who've been through this, don't you? He nodded slowly.
Lunch block back corner by the vending machines. That's where most of us sit now. Thank you, Ariel said, standing up. And Devon, your art's really good. A ghost of a smile crossed his face.
Your hair looks good, too. Different, but good. Throughout the day, Ariel visited the spots Devon mentioned. Between classes, she spoke quietly with students who had been pushed to the margins. Maria from her chemistry class, the Thompson twins, Malik from the cafeteria.
Each had a story. Each had been silenced. After school, Ariel headed to the Southside Community Center. She'd found Zarya Hughes's contact information through the local black community newsletter. The young journalist had written several pieces about discrimination in nearby school districts.
The community center buzzed with after-school activities. Kids played basketball in the gym while seniors gathered for bingo in the main hall. Ariel found Zarya in the small library typing on a laptop decorated with social justice stickers. Ms. Hughes. Zaria looked up, her bright eyes sharp behind square-framed glasses.