Harper nodded.
“I know.”
She admitted that she had assumed the Franklin Fellowship deliberately recruited Black students to improve Hawthorne’s statistics. She had never looked up the fellowship criteria before making that assumption.
Aaliyah laughed without amusement.
“So you decided why I was here before you knew how I got here.”
“Yes.”
“And when you learned my grades?”
Harper swallowed.
“I found another explanation.”
That answer mattered.
Harper explained that each time Aaliyah succeeded, she told herself the university was overcompensating because accepting that Aaliyah had earned the opportunity meant admitting her original assumption had been wrong. Once the assumption became part of Harper’s social identity, letting it go felt like losing.
“Why the scholarship jokes?” Aaliyah asked.
Harper said she believed scholarship meant financial need and used that assumption to make Aaliyah feel lower-status around athletes from wealthy families.
“You knew that was classist.”
“Yes.”
“And the race part?”
Harper stared at the table.
“I knew enough to know I shouldn’t say exactly what I was thinking.”
Aaliyah let the silence sit.
That was one of the most honest things Harper had ever said.
Then they reached the court.
“Why did you bring the bat over?”
Harper started crying.
“I wanted everybody to laugh.”
“At what?”
“You getting scared.”
Aaliyah’s jaw tightened.
Harper explained that she expected to tap the headphones, make Aaliyah jump, and send the clip to friends. She had convinced herself it would be funny because she was still angry about conduct probation.
“You swung it.”
“I know.”
“You could have hit my temple.”
“I know.”