"Those Carter girls were always trouble," Mrs. Jenkins said, shaking her head. "Violence never solved anything."
Her friend nodded vigorously. "Did you hear what she did to poor Chase? His mama says he might lose his scholarship."
Nia's shoulders hunched forward, but Naomi walked taller, her chin lifted. As they passed Miller's hardware store, old Mr. Miller actually tipped his hat to them, something he'd never done before. Inside the diner, they could see through the large window as Tommy Chen's father gripped his son's shoulder, pointing at Naomi with something like pride in his eyes. The Chens had faced their own share of harassment from Chase's crowd.
"Look at them all," Nia whispered. "Talking about us like we're characters in some story."
"Let them talk," Naomi replied, but her voice wavered slightly. The weight of all those eyes felt heavier than any punch she'd taken.
As they approached the school, the whispers grew louder, more direct. A group of white students near the flagpole stepped back as they passed, like Naomi was some kind of dangerous animal. But Marcus Washington and his friends, who usually kept their distance, gave her subtle nods of respect.
"Heard you gave those boys exactly what they deserved," an elderly black man called from his porch, his voice carrying across the street. "About time somebody did."
Inside the school hallway, the divide was even more apparent. Students clustered in tight groups, conversations dying as the sisters passed. Some looked afraid, others admiring, but nobody seemed neutral anymore.
"Thug," someone coughed into their hand as Naomi passed.
"Hero," another whispered from behind a locker door.
Nia grabbed Naomi's arm. "Maybe we should have stayed home today and let them think they scared us away."
Naomi shook her head. "No chance."
They headed toward their first class, English with Mrs. Delgado. The teacher stood at her door as always, greeting students. When she saw the Carter twins, something flickered in her eyes: concern mixed with determination.
"Girls," she said quietly. "Could you stay after class? I need to discuss your essays."
During class, Mrs. Delgado taught as usual, but Naomi caught her glancing their way more than usual. When the bell rang and other students filed out, she closed the door and pulled down the shade.
"I heard what happened," she said, her voice low and urgent. "Both times. The attack on Nia and what followed."
Naomi tensed, ready for another lecture about violence not being the answer. But Mrs. Delgado surprised her by pulling a thick manila folder from her desk drawer.
"Those boys, Chase, Kyle, and their friends, they've been bullying students for years," she said, placing the folder on Naomi's desk. "I've documented every incident I've witnessed or had reported to me. Dates, times, witnesses. The school board has ignored every complaint."
Naomi's hands trembled as she opened the folder. Inside were dozens of handwritten accounts, emails, even photographs of injuries and vandalism. Names she recognized, students who'd suddenly transferred or dropped out.
"Why are you showing us this?" Nia asked.
Mrs. Delgado's eyes darted to the door before she answered. "Because I'm tired of watching good kids get hurt while those boys face no consequences. Because I remember what it was like being the daughter of immigrants, having people tell my family we didn't belong." She took a deep breath. "And because what they're doing to your family now, twisting the truth, using their power to punish you for standing up... it has to stop."
Naomi leafed through the pages, her throat tight. Here was proof, real documented proof of years of systematic bullying and cover-ups.
"This could get you in trouble," she said.
Mrs. Delgado straightened her spine. "Some things are worth the risk. Just," she hesitated, "be careful how you use it. Those families have a lot of influence in this town."
The warning bell rang, making them all jump. Mrs. Delgado quickly wrote them passes for their next class. As they left the classroom, Naomi clutched the folder tight against her chest, its weight somehow both heavy and uplifting.
The hallway had cleared, their footsteps echoing off the rows of lockers.
"We fight with more than fists now," Naomi whispered, her fingers tracing the edge of the folder that contained their new weapon: the truth.
The evening sun painted long shadows through the damaged walls of the old barn. Naomi had dragged three scarecrows from the cornfield, propping them up against bales of hay. She'd stuffed old feed bags with straw to make them firmer, more like practice dummies. Sweat dripped from her forehead as she executed a perfect hip throw on the middle dummy. The scarecrow crashed to the dirt floor with a satisfying thud. Her muscles burned from repeating the same moves over and over, but she wouldn't stop. Couldn't stop.
The creak of the barn door made her spin around, hands automatically rising into a defensive stance. But it was just Nia holding two mason jars of ice water.
"Grandma Rose sent these," Nia said softly, setting one jar on a wooden crate. She watched as Naomi attacked the dummy again, this time with a swift leg sweep. "How... how long have you been practicing out here?"
"Few hours." Naomi wiped her face with her shirt sleeve. "Need to stay sharp."