His team told us he prevented a safety accident. If I write only that it sounds like you agree, then write that I disagree and that there are records being checked. Don't make it sound settled when it isn't. The reporter nodded. She showed Maya a draft quotation before leaving.
Maya corrected one word, changing attacked to damaged because nobody had been physically struck. Camille watched her carefully. You're giving him such an easy story to hide inside, Camille said after Hannah left. No, I'm giving the reporter a sentence she can stand behind. The the distinction felt small beside broken metal.
Later that day, Maya would learn how hard it was to persuade people to notice a small distinction at all. The school's workshop phone rang. Dr. King listened, said very little, and wrote a short note. After he hung up, he looked troubled but composed. North Point's faculty advisor called.
He suggested, "We withdraw our complaint so the district doesn't reconsider the community workshop arrangement."Camille stared. Our school uses that workshop every winter. It's not his decision, Dr. King said. And I reminded him of that.
I'm documenting the call and forwarding it to the director as a possible conflict, not as proof that Easton broke anything. Maya imagined the students who used their school's workshop because their apartments had no tools and no spare space. She she imagined losing access because she refused to call deliberate damage an accident. He didn't say it was a threat. He called it practical advice.
Funny how those can sound exactly the same. After school, Lucas Santos approached their table without his AV lanyard. His eyes went to the empty chair by the door, then to the window. I only have a few minutes, he said. They changed my assignment for Saturday.
Who did? Camille asked. Not sure. The office emailed me. He twisted the strap of his bag.
Look, I was working the booth yesterday. I saw Easton walk past your table after the crash. He reached toward the front clamp. Maya kept her voice steady. Did you see him take the phone?
Lucas shook his head. A tall student was blocking part of my view. I saw his arm there. Then I had to fix a video feed. When I looked back, the clamp was empty.
Would you tell the director that? Camille asked. I just did. To her, Camille said, not just us. Lucas looked down.
Bots looked down. I'm the only student from my school working the video desk this year. I didn't get that position because my family's important. I got it because I showed up all summer and learned the equipment. If somebody says I made it up, I'm done.
Maya understood the fear. It wasn't cowardice to want the work you'd earned to remain yours. You don't have to tell her something you didn't see. she said. Write down the exact part you remember.
If there's a part you couldn't see, put that in, too. He looked surprised. Would that even help? Maybe. The truth doesn't need to grow extra details.
Lucas nodded once, but he did not promise to submit a statement. When he left, Camille leaned over the table. He knows more than he's saying, or he doesn't. That may be the difference between Saturday and watching from the bleachers. I know.
Maya looked at the doorway where Lucas had stood, and I won't ask him to invent the part that makes it easier for us. At 1, Gourdsk went to the public library to use a reliable connection for the backup phone. The previous night, Maya had resisted copying its unfinished segment while it was low on power. Now, with the battery charged and the device no longer trying to upload, they opened the app's local file list and compared its clock to the Civic Center demonstration log. For 2 minutes, the old phone played a rear view of Beacon moving between foam blocks.
The image was grainy around the edges, but usable. It showed Camille kneeling to adjust a cable. It showed Maya stepping into the marked lane. It showed the room clock in the upper corner. At 3:41, the motors stopped.
Maya's hand lifted the front safety cover and the robot remained still. Then the preview froze. The next image wouldn't load. Camille tapped the screen. Try the next segment.
Not yet. Why? Because the app keeps saying the source isn't verified. If we export random screenshots, somebody could say we picked only what we wanted. Somebody was shall say that anyway.
Then we give them less reason. They wrote down the phone model, camera app version, approximate time drift, and what the folder had uploaded. Neither girl knew how to authenticate a cloud archive professionally. They knew how to keep the original device and avoid editing its files. That was a beginning.
The Wi-Fi log on the app showed intermittent connectivity. Some 30-cond chunks had been uploaded. Others were still listed as local. One of the thumbnails, nearly black, appeared to contain an arm wearing an orange band. It could have been Easton.
It could have been another person passing behind the screen. The compressed preview had no clear face, and the moment of impact was not visible. Camille held the screen under the desk lamp. That's his wristband. It's an orange strip on a blurry picture.
He wears that thing every day. I saw it, too. I'm not saying you're wrong. I'm saying the picture isn't enough yet. They stayed until their library computer reservation was due to end in 15 minutes.
Maya left the phone powered off in a padded pouch in her bag and put a written record of its current condition in the incident folder. She emailed Park a factual summary. The recording setup, the known incomplete upload, and their request for guidance on preserving original files. She attached no cropped accusation. In 2 days, they would face the final inspection.
The girls still needed a controller and aligned wheel assembly, a harness they trusted, and a verified demonstration that Beacon could navigate the course. The problem looked larger every time they added an honest detail. Back at school, Dr. King sat with them during their open study period. "You can choose to compete,"he said. "And you can choose to pursue the incident report. You're not required to sacrifice one to do the other, but you cannot make either choice without accepting the work it requires."Camille spread a sheet of graph paper over the table. On the left, she drew a calendar from Thursday to Saturday. On the right, she listed what could be tested, what needed a part, and what remained unknown. She placed the words incident review beside them, not above them. Don't do that.
Maya stared at the two columns. She'd been afraid that wanting justice would distract her from rebuilding. She'd also been afraid that rebuilding would teach everyone. They could destroy her work without consequence. Looking at Camille's plan, she saw that they could refuse both kinds of defeat. "Let's request the review,"Maya said. "And let's call the parts bank,"Camille nodded. "We tell Park the truth about the video, not what we hope it shows." "And we tell Easton there's a way to end the lying,"Maya added. Dr. King raised his head. "Careful. Any approach should be witnessed and not framed as a threat.
I don't want to threaten him, Maya said. I want to give him one chance to correct the record while he still can. She had been picturing a public confrontation, the kind people made clips of. But the longer she sat with the idea, the less she wanted an audience. If Easton told the truth voluntarily, the machine would still be broken.