I'd like to represent them pro bono. In their shared bedroom, Amara and Ayana sat on their beds, watching their phones light up with notifications, messages, comments, friend requests from strangers. The devices buzzed constantly with the weight of sudden unwanted fame. "You okay?" Amara asked softly.
Ayana nodded, still staring at her screen. you? Yeah. Amara looked out their window at the news vans. Think we went too far? No.
Ayana's voice was firm. Grandpa always said, "Sometimes the only way to stop a bully is to show them exactly what they're dealing with." They finished together. Outside, camera flashes lit up the darkness like lightning bugs. Their phones kept buzzing.
Somewhere in the house, they could hear Mrs. Holloway talking with the lawyer about next steps and statements. The twins sat in silence, watching their small town story become a headline. The rain drumed against the school bus windows, turning the world outside into a gray smear. Amara watched droplets race down the glass while Ayana sat rigid beside her, both feeling the weight of eyes on their backs.
No one sat in the seats near them. The school parking lot was a mess of puddles and news vans. Reporters huddled under umbrellas, shoving microphones toward students who hurried past. Principal Reeves stood at the main entrance, her smile fixed and artificial as she assured a camera crew that appropriate measures were being taken. Girls, attorney Malcolm Reed waited under the bus shelter, his dark suit crisp despite the weather.
Walk in with me. Don't answer any questions. They moved through the crowd like a small fortress. Reed in front. The twins shouldertosh shoulder behind him.
Camera flashes sparked through the rain. Reporters shouted questions that blurred together. Can you comment on yesterday's? Is it true that you What message are you trying to? Inside the hallways fell into tense silence.
Students pressed against lockers as the twins passed. Some filming with phones, others whispering behind hands. The confidence from yesterday had evaporated, replaced by weary calculation. In the main office, Principal Reeves sat behind her desk, her normally perfect hair slightly frazzled. Due to the involvement of legal counsel, she said, not meeting their eyes.
All disciplinary actions are temporarily suspended, pending a full investigation. And the boys?" Reed asked, his voice sharp. "They're recovering," she said stiffly. "Their parents are considering options."
"I'm sure they are." Reed's smile was cold. Just as we're considering a civil rights lawsuit, if any retribution occurs, the morning crawled by uncomfortable silence. Teachers called roll without looking at the twins, then taught facing the board. In English, their usual seats were conspicuously empty.
No one wanted to sit near them. During group work, other students pulled their chairs away slightly, as if violence might be contagious. Cody was absent, but his friends glared from across rooms, their hatred barely contained. Coach Sell stood in his office doorway as they passed, his face twisted in a sneer that vanished when Reed walked by. "How long will you be here?"
Amara asked Reed between classes. As long as needed, he checked his phone. I've got meetings with the school board and NAACP tomorrow. This isn't going away. That evening, rain still falling.
Mrs. Holloway gathered them in the living room. The TV news played silently in the background, showing footage of the fight on repeat. We need to pray, she said, holding their hands. for strength, for peace, for those boys, too. Mrs.
Holloway, Ayana started. I know, baby, but hate just makes more hate. We have to be better. Amara watched rain streak down the windows, wanting to believe that lawyers and prayers could fix this. The house felt smaller somehow, like the walls were pressing in.
Outside, car headlights swept past regularly, people driving by slowly, staring at their house. Maybe we should. Amara's words cut off at a sharp crack from the front porch. The window exploded in orange light. Flames roared up the front wall.
Smoke already pouring through the broken glass. The acrid smell of gasoline filled the air. Out now. Amara grabbed Mrs. Holloway's arm while Ayana ran for the back door.
The older woman stumbled, coughing as smoke filled the living room. They half carried Mrs. Holloway through the kitchen as neighbors began shouting outside. Someone was calling 911. The twins got their foster mother to the backyard, then ran for garden hoses, but the flames were already climbing toward the roof.
Fire trucks arrived within minutes, sirens wailing through the rain. Firefighters deployed hoses, working quickly to contain the blaze before it could spread inside. The twins held Mrs. Holloway as she shook, watching water and foam soak their home. Police cars arrived next, their lights painting the wet street in alternating red and blue.
Two officers walked the perimeter with flashlights, paying special attention to the burning porch. Looks like faulty wiring," one said, barely glancing at the obvious splash pattern of accelerant. "Could be," his partner agreed, ignoring the broken glass from the Molotov cocktail scattered across the yard. Amara's fists clenched as she watched them write in their notebooks, already deciding what this was and wasn't. Mrs.
Holloway's hand touched her shoulder gently. "The Lord sees," she whispered. even if they won't. Neighbors clustered under umbrellas, some offering sympathy, others staying conspicuously silent. The firefighters began packing up their gear. The damage was mostly contained to the porch and front wall, but the message was clear.
Lawyers couldn't stop this kind of hate. One officer approached them, his notepad already closing. Probably just old wiring. These houses, you know how they are. insurance should cover it. Amara stared at him, at his practiced indifference, at the way he avoided their eyes.
Silence hung between them like smoke, thick with unspoken accusations, and denied justice. The officer shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "Will uh file a report?" He retreated to his car where his partner was already starting the engine. Standing in the rain, watching police lights fade into the distance.