Amara smiled slightly. "It wasn't in the program."
James Marshall, a former Marine with the build to prove it, sat on the edge of her bed. "Are those boys still giving you trouble?"
"Nothing I can't handle."
"That's not what I asked, Amara."
She sighed, setting aside her Braille reader. "They're just insecure kids with too much money and not enough consequences."
"That doesn't give them the right to target you." His voice held the controlled anger of a man who had spent a lifetime learning to channel his emotions. "I could speak to the principal."
"Dad, please don't. It would only make things worse." Amara reached out, finding his hand with unerring accuracy. "I've got this. Trust me."
He squeezed her hand. "I always have."
The next morning, Amara arrived at school to find an atmosphere of tension. As she walked to her locker, conversations hushed when she passed, only to resume in fervent whispers behind her.
Yasmin found her before first period, her voice tight with anger. "Chase hacked into the school's student records. He's showing people your address, your medical history, everything."
Amara's expression didn't change, but her hand tightened slightly on her cane. "Was that supposed to scare me?"
"He's trying to prove you don't belong here, that your family can't afford the tuition without special assistance."
"And that would make me less worthy of being here?"
"Of course not," Yasmin exclaimed. "But you know how some of these trust fund kids think."
Amara nodded slowly. "My father will need to be informed. This crosses a different line."