Camille stopped.
“What?”
“Why do I owe you this conversation?”
“You owe me the truth.”
“About what?”
“About why you got everything.”
Laila finally laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because after an entire year, the question had become exhausted beyond anger.
“You still think there has to be another reason.”
Camille looked at her.
Laila continued.
“My grades need another reason.”
“My portfolio needs another reason.”
“The district show needed another reason.”
“My editor position needs another reason.”
“My college acceptance needs another reason.”
She shook her head.
“You cannot just let me be good at something.”
The room went silent.
Camille’s face reddened.
“You’re not that good.”
Laila nodded.
“Fine.”
The answer surprised her.
“Maybe I’m not.”
Laila adjusted the bag on her shoulder.
“But you still don’t get to treat me like this.”
She turned toward the door.
Camille rushed forward.
The first physical movement happened quickly.
Her hand caught Laila high near the shoulder.
Laila spun around.
“Don’t touch me.”
Camille shoved again.
Laila stepped backward.
Several students shouted.
“Camille!”
“Stop!”
Camille raised one hand.
Laila saw the arm move.
The first strike came toward her face.
Laila leaned away.
It missed.
Her body reacted before her mind finished processing.
Distance.
Jordan’s voice.
Move first.
Laila stepped sideways.
“Stop.”
Camille came forward again.
Second swing.
Laila blocked with her forearm.
She did not counter.
She backed toward the gray studio backdrop.
Camille followed.
“Stop!”
The third attack came faster.