Chapter 3: What Jada Kept
The girl in the blue sweater was named Jada.
Principal Harmon hadn't known that until she spoke.
He had seen her before — quiet, always near the front of the hallway, always moving like someone who had learned not to take up too much space.
He looked at her now the way people look at someone they realize they should have noticed sooner.
"Come with me," he said.
"Both of you."
Marcus finally stood.
He picked up the exam from his desk, folded it once, and slid it into his jacket pocket.
Nobody told him to.
He just did it.
Mrs.
Vance was already in the hallway.
The security officer, a broad man named Delgado who had worked at Crestfield High for eleven years, stood just behind her left shoulder.
She wasn't going anywhere.
She seemed to understand that now.
The three of them — Harmon, Marcus, Jada — walked past her without a word.
She watched them go.
---
Harmon's office smelled like old paper and burnt coffee.
He closed the door, gestured to the two chairs across from his desk, and sat down without ceremony.
"Show me," he said to Jada.
She unlocked her phone and placed it flat on the desk, folder open.
Harmon leaned forward.
The first screenshot was from October.
Mrs.
Vance standing over a girl named Priya, pointing at a math test, her face twisted in the same expression Marcus had seen an hour ago.
The caption Jada had typed beneath it read: *Third time this semester.
Same look.
Same words.*
The second was from November.
A boy named DeShawn, standing at the whiteboard, Mrs.
Vance's hand raised toward the work he'd written, her posture broadcasting contempt before she'd said a single word.
The third was from last month.
A girl Marcus didn't recognize, sitting alone at a desk pushed slightly apart from the others.
Jada had photographed the seating arrangement from the doorway.
Harmon scrolled slowly.
He didn't speak.
"How long have you been collecting these?" Marcus asked.
Jada looked at her hands.
"Since the second week of school."
"That's four months."
"I know."
"Why didn't you go to someone sooner?"
She looked up at him.
"I tried.
In October.
I went to the vice principal and showed her two photos." A pause.
"She told me Mrs.
Vance had been teaching here for nineteen years and that I should be careful about making accusations I couldn't prove."
Harmon set the phone down.
"Who was the vice principal?"
"Mrs.
Okafor."
He was quiet for a moment.
"She's still in the building."
"I know," Jada said.
---
Harmon picked up his desk phone and dialed an extension.
Three seconds.
"Carol, ask Mrs.
Okafor to come to my office, please.
Yes.
Now."
He set the phone down and looked at the two students across from him.
Marcus had his hands folded in his lap.
He wasn't performing calm anymore.
He actually was calm — the kind that comes after something has already been decided.
"Marcus," Harmon said.
"I want to ask you something, and I want you to answer honestly."
"Okay."
"Has Mrs.
Vance done this to you before today?"
The pause was short.
"Three times."
"Did you report it?"
"My mother called the school in September." He looked at the desk.
"She was told it was a personality conflict."
Harmon's jaw tightened.
He didn't say anything.
He didn't need to.
A knock at the door.
"Come in," Harmon said.
The door opened.
Vice Principal Okafor stepped into the room, and her eyes moved from Harmon to Marcus to Jada — and stopped on the phone still lying open on the desk.
She recognized the folder.
Her hand, resting on the door frame, went very still.
May you like
"Close the door," Harmon said quietly.
"And sit down."
