Page 98 of Unspoken Truths

Reading my mind, Mom says as much. “We were celebrating the transition in our way,” she says. “This has been a year of changes, I’m sure you can understand why we decided to take our time with this. We simply forgot to forward the paperwork. I believe a child should be called what they wish to be without all of this fanfare.”

“It’s not as if she asked for something outrageous,” Emil adds, shrugging. “Her name shouldn’t be a factor in how she’s treated. Now, what is this nonsense I’m hearing about a computer glitch that’s erasing all of Rachelle’s hard work?”

“We all take care to ensure the correct grades are inputted,” Dr. Ferris says obstinately. “We can’t simply stop everything because Rachelle is suddenly failing. There’s no proof that she did the work.”

“I’m even failing math,” I mutter. “It’s my best subject. I can be half asleep and still answer the questions. How on earth can I be failing all of my classes except Mr. Richardson’s statistics class?”

Mr. Richardson was also dragged to this meeting, but he doesn’t look too upset about it. He simply watches the room, surveying the teachers, staying silent.

My math teacher opens her mouth and then closes it, sighing. There’s absolutely no way for me to be able to prove that I’ve completed the work in that class since it’s not backed up on my computer. I’m going to fail, I’m sure of it.

“I’m willing to relook at my grade book if you can show that you completed the papers,” my English teacher says softly.

Emil pulls out his laptop and the memory stick, and plugs it in.

“Unfortunately, Rachelle’s laptop was compromised,” he drawls. “It seems like a big coincidence that every single school file was deleted from it, don’t you think? Thankfully, she backs everything up.”

“My daughter works for hours on her schoolwork,” Mom adds. “Every day, she studies, does her homework and papers. I can’t accept that she’s going to be failing this semester.”

“If she can’t show that she did the work, then that’s what is going to happen,” Mrs. Hartwell says stubbornly, practically glaring at the paperwork in her hands. “We don’t show special treatment to anyone. It’s simply unfair.”

“Exams with scantrons aren’t something that I’ll have,” I interject. “I can’t show my work for that, I have several failing grades that I know for a fact I aced. That’s almost the entirety of my math class. How did you explain the discrepancy?”

The teachers raise their voices in unison in response to my question, while I lean back holding back a sigh.

Mr. Richardson slams a folder on the table several times to maintain order, making me wince.

“I believe we’re in the presence of a massive delusion,” the psychologist, Dr. Scott says carefully. “Miss Reyes has a clear history of mental health issues. Who is to say that she isn’t making this up?”

Blowing out a breath, I begin counting to ten in Spanish, because it’s one of the few things I know. It also takes me longer to get there, which is the only way I’m going to keep from going across the table.

Attacking the school psychologist isn’t the best way to convince people I’m sane.

“Here is everything Rachelle has done during her time at Carlysle Prep,” Emil says. “I just downloaded the entirety of this memory stick to an external site, so any attempt to alter these will not result in the results you think they will.”

My stepfather shoves the laptop to slide it across the table to my English teacher, who immediately begins to check for assignments.

“You don’t have much faith in the faculty here,” Mr. Richardson observes.

“I don’t trust anyone,” my stepfather growls. “This school has already hurt her more than once, allowing others to hurt her. I’m not sitting back anymore.”

“I would never say you’re less than a hands-on parent,” my statistics teacher states. “Rachelle’s grade is a ninety-eight percent for my course, one of the highest. I’m a difficult teacher.”

“All of the assignments are here,” my English teacher murmurs. “Participation points are still marked as zeros, which I unfortunately can’t alter and are worth twenty-five percent of the overall grade.”

“It’s English class,” Mr. Richardson mutters. “Tyla, what kind of participation are you looking for? That’s a bit obnoxious.”

“I don’t tell you how to run your class,” my teacher says archly. “Don’t backseat teach.”

One by one, they check the contents of my memory stick, but I can already tell it’s not going to be enough. I’ll be lucky to pull C minus grades in some of them.

“I remember how much you participate in my class,” my math teacher says. “I can give you full credit for the participation points, but the exams have you at low marks or failing.”

“I want to reiterate that my daughter is being targeted,” Mom practically growls.

“She is,” Emil says. “Cyber bullying is discussed in the charter of the school, and last I checked this is to be punished. Why isn’t it?”

“Even if it is a glitch,” Mrs. Hartwell says, ignoring the suggestion of cyber bully, “there’s no way to change grades without knowing what they were before. Miss Tho— Reyes, will not be passing her courses. There have been so many issues with her attendance here, it may be best to discuss that she transfer to another school.”

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