"They're suspending him pending investigation," Yasmin told Amara between classes. "Chase is systematically eliminating everyone who stands with you."
Amara's face hardened slightly. "This ends now."
"What are you going to do?"
"Something I should have done from the beginning." Amara pulled out her phone. "Call Dad."
That afternoon, James Marshall arrived at Grafton Academy for the second time that week. This time, he wasn't alone. With him was a woman in her early thirties, dressed in a crisp suit, her natural hair styled in a professional updo.
"Who's that?" Yasmin whispered as they watched from the library window.
"Sarah Jenkins," Amara replied. "Civil rights attorney. Specializes in discrimination cases. And my godmother."
Principal Weston's face was ashen as he emerged from his office an hour later, James Marshall and Attorney Jenkins following with expressions of grim satisfaction.
That evening, Amara sat in her bedroom with her father, the weight of recent events hanging between them.
"You could have come to me sooner," he said quietly.
"I wanted to handle it myself," Amara replied.
"Some battles you shouldn't have to fight alone." He sighed heavily. "When your mother died—"
"Dad, don't."
"No, you need to hear this." His voice was gentle, but firm. "When your mother died protecting you in that robbery, I blamed myself for not being there, for not stopping it."
Amara's fingers tightened around her cane. "I was the one who wanted to go to that store. If I hadn't begged her—"