“Don’t critique her pieces unless you want administration involved.”
The story turned Sanaa from the target into the threat.
That transformation bothered her more than she expected.
During one critique, student Caleb Turner hesitated before saying the bottom of Sanaa’s vase looked too heavy.
Sanaa agreed.
He seemed relieved.
After class she asked why he had looked terrified.
Caleb laughed awkwardly.
“People say criticizing your stuff is dangerous right now.”
Sanaa stared.
“Who says that?”
He immediately regretted speaking.
“I don’t know.”
“Caleb.”
“Mackenzie said everybody should be careful.”
Sanaa closed her eyes briefly.
“Critique my pottery.”
“What?”
“If it’s ugly, say it’s ugly.”
Caleb smiled.
“I don’t think Mercer lets us use ugly.”
“You understand the point.”
He did.
The rumor had altered the room.
That made the harassment more than private.
Reeves documented the retaliation concern and met with Mackenzie again.
No suspension followed because nobody could establish she had instructed anyone to isolate Sanaa or refuse academic critique.
She received another warning.
That angered her further.
By March, even students who did not know the original fellowship issue believed Sanaa and Mackenzie had some kind of mutual feud.
Sanaa hated the word feud.
A feud implied both people spent equal energy maintaining conflict.
Sanaa wanted to make bowls.
Mackenzie wanted to explain why everything involving Sanaa was somehow about Mackenzie.
The difference became obvious to Mercer.
One afternoon she kept Sanaa after class.
“You’re changing your work.”
Sanaa looked toward her shelf.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes.”
Mercer picked up a nearly finished bowl.
The surface was smooth.
No patches.
No fingerprints.
No carved pattern.
“You’ve spent two years doing the opposite of this.”
Sanaa looked at it.
“I wanted something cleaner.”
“Do you?”
Sanaa said nothing.
Mercer sat on the corner of the table.
“Did Mackenzie make you scared your work looks too cultural?”
The question embarrassed her.
“I don’t know.”
“That usually means yes.”
Sanaa looked down.
The worst part was realizing Mackenzie had managed to enter decisions made alone at a wheel.
Sanaa had begun asking whether every pattern would look racial.
Whether visible fingerprints became some diversity narrative.
Whether imperfect surfaces would be treated as autobiography.
She had started editing herself before anyone else could interpret her.
That made her angry.
She crushed the smooth bowl with both hands.
Mercer flinched.
“Okay.”
Sanaa laughed for the first time all afternoon.
“You wanted honesty.”
“Not violence against innocent pottery.”
“It knew what it did.”
They recycled the clay.
The next piece Sanaa made was deliberately rough.
She built it from overlapping slabs and pressed fingerprints around the rim.
On one side she attached a patch of clay that looked almost like a repair even though nothing had broken.
She called it No Explanation Attached.
Mercer smiled when she saw the title.
“Subtle.”
“I learned from you.”
It became Sanaa’s favorite piece of senior year.
Not because it was secretly about Mackenzie.