“Because every disagreement becomes racism.”
Sanaa laughed once.
“I haven’t said racism.”
Mackenzie stepped closer.
“You don’t have to.”
Sanaa stared.
“You are doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Answering something I didn’t say.”
Mackenzie shook her head.
“Whatever.”
She turned toward the pottery table.
The large bowl sat between them.
Brenna moved beside it and pointed toward the raised patch on the side.
“Is this what everyone’s obsessed with?”
Sanaa looked at her.
Brenna’s tone was mocking but less aggressive than Mackenzie’s.
She touched one finger near the relief texture.
“Don’t touch it.”
Brenna stopped.
“I’m pointing.”
“Then point without putting your finger on it.”
Brenna pulled her hand away.
“See?”
Sanaa’s patience snapped slightly.
“See what?”
“You are intense about everything.”
Sanaa looked between both girls.
“Mackenzie just smeared clay across my shirt.”
Brenna glanced at the hoodie.
“I said that was messed up.”
“Then why are you joining this?”
“I’m not joining anything.”
“You’re standing here helping her make fun of my work.”
Brenna crossed her arms.
“I asked about the bowl.”
“No.”
Sanaa’s voice stayed calm.
“You asked about ‘what everybody is obsessed with.’”
Brenna looked embarrassed.
Mackenzie jumped in.
“Stop interrogating her.”
“I’m not.”
“You always do this.”
Sanaa exhaled.
The room had become silent.
A student near the shelves raised a phone.
Another remained frozen beside a pottery wheel.
Sanaa noticed.
She hated that an audience had formed.
“I’m going to clean this off.”
She stepped toward the sink.
Mackenzie moved into her path.
Sanaa stopped.
“Move.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m covered in clay.”
“You’re not covered.”
Sanaa pointed toward her chest.
“Move.”
Mackenzie smiled.
“There’s the attitude everybody keeps talking about.”
The words landed differently from everything else.
Sanaa stood very still.
“What attitude?”
Brenna looked toward Mackenzie.
“Don’t.”
Mackenzie ignored her.
“You act calm until somebody doesn’t give you exactly what you want.”
Sanaa almost laughed.
“You put clay on my body.”
“It’s not your body. It’s your sweatshirt.”
Sanaa stared at her.
“That may be the dumbest thing you have said all year.”
Several students reacted.
Mackenzie’s face reddened.
Sanaa regretted the sentence immediately—not because it was false, but because she recognized what happened when embarrassment entered Mackenzie’s anger.
She stepped right.
Mackenzie shifted right.