The history symposium.
“You thought the school was giving me those things because I’m Black,” Janelle said.
Sophie nodded.
“At first.”
“And later?”
Sophie looked up.
“Later I knew you were earning them.”
Janelle waited.
“That made it worse.”
The answer surprised her.
Sophie explained that if Janelle succeeded only because Westbridge wanted diversity, Sophie could preserve the belief that students like her naturally belonged at the top.
Once Janelle’s work repeatedly proved otherwise, Sophie had to choose between changing the assumption and protecting it.
She protected it.
Every new accomplishment therefore required another explanation.
Teachers favored Janelle.
The fellowship gave her advantages.
Universities wanted representation.
Journalism wanted a story.
The school wanted good publicity.
Anything except the simplest possibility.
Janelle might simply be talented.
“Why the money jokes?” Janelle asked.
Sophie admitted she assumed scholarship meant poor.
“Claire has a scholarship.”
“I know.”
“You never treated her that way.”
Sophie looked down.
“I know.”
Janelle did not need another explanation.
The racial difference was already sitting between them.
Then they reached the fountain.
“Why did you throw the books?”
Sophie’s eyes filled.
“I wanted you angry.”
“Why?”
“Because ignoring me made me feel stupid.”
Janelle stared.
For months, silence had been her attempt to end the conflict.
Sophie had experienced it as loss of control.
“I thought if you finally exploded,” Sophie said, “everyone would see you were just as bad.”
Janelle nodded slowly.
“And when I tried to get the books?”
“I followed you.”
“You pushed me.”
“Yes.”