“I know.”
“Everybody’s do.”
“I know.”
“The issue is somebody turning it into a question about authenticity.”
Imani looked toward the booth.
“Do I sound fake?”
Cole shook his head.
“No.”
Too fast.
Imani laughed.
“You answered before I finished.”
“Because that question is already doing damage.”
He was right.
Cole reported the incident to Assistant Principal Leah Morgan.
Morgan interviewed Imani first.
Then Kendall.
Kendall admitted making the video.
She denied racial intent.
“I was literally talking about code-switching.”
Morgan placed a transcript in front of her.
Which one is real?
Kendall crossed her arms.
“It was a joke.”
“Why is one voice more real?”
“I don’t know.”
“You labeled neither clip with race.”
“I know.”
“Then why did Avery understand one version as ‘Black Imani’?”
Kendall’s eyes flashed.
“Ask Avery.”
Morgan did.
Avery cried during the interview.
She admitted Kendall had repeatedly joked that Imani “turned suburban” around teachers and that the morning-announcement version sounded like “a Black girl white parents would trust.”
That phrase changed the investigation.
Kendall denied saying it.
Avery insisted she had.
No recording existed.
Morgan documented both accounts.
The school issued Kendall a written warning for targeted harassment and unauthorized recording used to mock a classmate. She was told to stop recording Imani, stop directing race-based comments toward her, and stop using Imani’s speech patterns as material for jokes.
Kendall’s mother challenged the warning.
Christine Pryce arrived at Eastborough in a cream sweater, tailored slacks, and the impatient expression of someone accustomed to meetings ending when she decided they had.
“My daughter made a stupid TikTok-style joke.”
“It was an Instagram story,” Morgan said.
“That distinction proves my point.”
Morgan did not react.
Christine argued teenagers mocked each other constantly and the school had transformed a social joke into a race issue because Imani was Black.
Morgan answered carefully.
“The school did not introduce race.”
She showed Avery’s statement.
Christine read the phrase.
Her expression changed.
“My daughter denies saying that.”
“We documented her denial.”
“Then why is she being punished for it?”
“She isn’t.”
Morgan pointed toward the conduct warning.
“She is being disciplined for conduct she admits: recording Imani without her knowledge, editing the recording to question which version of her was real, and continuing speech-based mockery after Imani asked her to stop.”
Christine sat back.
“That is still incredibly subjective.”
“Harassment often requires context.”
The warning remained.
Kendall returned to media class angry.
For two weeks she spoke to Imani only when assignments required it.
Imani welcomed the silence.
Then something stranger happened.
She began monitoring herself without Kendall saying anything.
During announcements, Imani heard every vowel.
During lunch, she occasionally caught herself wondering whether somebody nearby would interpret her voice differently.
When she spoke to Cole, she noticed herself becoming more careful.
When she spoke to Nia, she noticed herself becoming less careful and then hated herself for noticing.
One evening Dana found her daughter rerecording a college application video in the bedroom.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
Dana stood in the doorway.
“Six versions of nothing?”
Imani sighed.
The application asked students to describe a community that shaped them.
She had recorded the answer seven times.
Each version sounded wrong.
Too polished.
Too casual.
Too rehearsed.
Too different from herself.
Dana sat on the edge of the bed.
“What happened?”
Imani finally showed her the video Kendall made.
Dana watched silently.
Then again.
When it ended, she handed back the phone.
“You have more than two voices.”