Then another friend, Samantha Rowe, entered the chat.
Samantha was less comfortable.
Maybe just stop talking about her race then
Mallory:
I’m not
Samantha:
u kinda are though
Mallory:
No I talk about how the SCHOOL uses it
Samantha:
same diff if you keep saying it to her
Mallory left the chat for twenty minutes.
When she returned:
Whatever. You’ll see eventually.
Nobody asked what that meant.
March brought the spreadsheet incident.
Tuesday morning.
7:06.
Melanie Ruiz discovered Zoe had disappeared from the entire volunteer schedule.
Gillian’s account showed edits at 2:13 a.m.
Gillian had been home.
The district technology office opened an audit.
Login credentials were valid.
No sign of hacking from outside the school network.
That was strange.
The account session appeared to originate from a school-issued laptop that had been online overnight.
Gillian checked.
Her planning laptop stayed locked inside the Student Council storage room.
She had forgotten to log out before closing it Monday afternoon.
Someone could have opened the machine.
The room itself required a student activities key.
Only eight students possessed one.
Mallory was one.
So was Zoe.
Evan.
Five club officers.
No cameras covered the interior.
The school changed passwords.
Restored Zoe’s shifts.
No discipline.
Insufficient proof.
Mallory heard about the investigation and laughed.
“Maybe Boss Bennett deleted herself for attention.”
Zoe stared.
“You know there’s an audit, right?”
“Exactly.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning they’ll prove who did it.”
Zoe looked directly at her.
“I hope so.”
Mallory’s smile disappeared.
For the first time, Zoe seriously wondered whether she had done it.
She still had no proof.
That distinction kept her from saying so.
At home, Dana noticed her daughter becoming quieter.
Not sad.
Watchful.
Zoe opened screenshots while eating.
Checked revision logs.
Saved meeting notes.
Wrote down dates.
“You planning a lawsuit?”
Dana asked.
“No.”
“Then why do you look like an accountant investigating a cartel?”
Zoe smiled.
“I’m documenting.”
“What?”
“Mallory.”
Gerald looked up from the television.
“Redhead?”
“Yes.”
“What’d she do now?”
“Maybe nothing.”
He muted the TV.
“That sentence usually means something.”
Zoe explained the spreadsheet.
The comments.
The warning.
The weird atmosphere.
Gerald listened.
Then asked:
“What do you want?”
“Her to leave me alone.”
“Then tell the school.”
“I did.”
“Again.”
“I don’t want to become the girl always reporting her.”
Dana frowned.
“Why not?”
“Because that’s literally what she tells people I am.”
Dana sat across from her.
“That is a trap.”
Zoe knew.
If she reported behavior, Mallory used the report as proof Zoe reported everything.
If she stayed silent, behavior continued.
The accusation created its own protection.
Dana tapped the table.
“You do not owe somebody silence so they won’t accuse you of speaking.”
Zoe wrote that down.
Her mother stared.
“Did you just take notes on me?”
“Good sentence.”
“I want royalties.”
The humor helped.
For a while.
The Spring Fair grew closer.
Rebecca Keane’s company delivered white tents, folding tables, stage pieces, and game equipment four days before the event.