They met after school with Mercer present.
Claire wore jeans and a white T-shirt.
Without Dylan beside her, she looked smaller.
Seventeen.
Nia realized she had spent months thinking of Claire as a force rather than another teenager.
That did not erase anything.
It simply changed the shape of the room.
Claire began apologizing.
Nia stopped her.
“Why the model?”
Claire looked down.
“I knew it mattered to you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is.”
Nia waited.
Claire explained that every school consequence had made her feel as though Nia controlled the narrative.
Whenever Claire joked, administrators documented it.
Whenever she complained about Nia, people brought up race.
The science project had become another symbol of teachers praising Nia.
“So you wanted to hurt something I cared about.”
Claire nodded.
Nia asked whether she believed Nia had actually built it.
Claire was quiet.
“At first I thought your dad helped.”
“Why?”
“It looked too good.”
Nia stared.
“Other projects looked good.”
“I know.”
“Did you think their parents built them?”
“No.”
The answer sat between them.
Nia did not need to ask what made her project different.
Claire understood.
“I kept assuming you were getting help,” she said.
“With grades.”
“Yes.”
“Programs.”
“Yes.”
“My project.”
“Yes.”
Nia leaned back.
“Why?”
Claire’s eyes filled.
“I think I decided early that you were here because the school wanted diversity, and then anything you did well didn’t fit.”
There it was.
Not hatred.
Not a slur.
A starting assumption that demanded constant maintenance.
Every achievement threatened it.
So Claire generated another explanation.
The system helped Nia.