Chapter 9 - What Punishment Was For
Everyone asked Anna the same question.
“Do you want Kayla expelled?”
Ben asked first.
Then Mia.
Then Elena.
Then even Dr. Shah.
Anna hated the question.
“I don’t know.”
Ben frowned.
“She threw your books in a fountain.”
“I remember.”
“And ran Front Gate.”
“I remember.”
“And almost posted your address.”
“I remember.”
“So…”
Anna looked at him.
“Do you want her expelled?”
Ben hesitated.
“That’s not my decision.”
“Exactly.”
At home, Elena said something similar.
“You don’t have to decide her punishment.”
“But they asked for a statement.”
“Then write what happened.”
“What if they ask what I want?”
“Tell them the truth.”
“I don’t know what the truth is.”
Elena sat beside her.
“Maybe the truth is that you don’t know.”
Anna stared at the blank document on her laptop.
She wanted Kayla gone.
Sometimes.
Especially when she remembered the fountain.
Other times, she imagined Kayla expelled, transferring to another school, telling everyone Anna destroyed her future.
Was that justice?
Or relocation?
Mia offered an unexpected opinion.
“If they expel her, she’ll think she’s the victim.”
Anna looked at her.
“Are you saying they shouldn’t?”
“No.”
Mia shook her head.
“I’m saying Kayla can turn anything into evidence that the world is against her.”
“That sounds like her problem.”
“It is.”
Mia’s own disciplinary process had concluded.
She received a five-day suspension, removal from student council for the year, digital citizenship probation, and forty hours of school service.
Her parents also required counseling.
Some students thought it was too light.
Mia herself did not.
“I got off easier because I came forward.”
Anna asked:
“Does that bother you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I shouldn’t get a prize for telling the truth after helping lie.”
Anna thought.
“It isn’t a prize.”
“No.”
“It’s the school deciding cooperation matters.”
Mia nodded.
“Still feels weird.”
Anna understood.
Consequences were rarely mathematically fair.
No scale could weigh cruelty precisely.
She finally wrote her statement.
She described the insults.
The books.
The backpack.
Front Gate.
The scholarship information.
The address threat.
Then she wrote:
I do not know whether Kayla should be expelled. I do know I should not be required to share classes, clubs, or private information with her while she is still blaming other people for what she did. I want to feel safe at school without becoming responsible for deciding her entire future.
Elena read it.
“This is good.”
“You think?”
“Yes.”
“Too soft?”
“No.”
“Too harsh?”
“No.”
“That’s impossible.”
Elena smiled.
“Welcome to adulthood.”
“Terrible place.”
The hearing happened Friday.
Anna did not attend.
Kayla did.
So did Victoria and Jonathan.
The disciplinary committee reviewed evidence.
Ben’s video.
Mia’s messages.
Front Gate records.
Sophie’s retaliation note.
Kayla’s admission.
The private financial-aid screenshot.
The attempted address search.
The committee distinguished between verified facts and suspicion.
They did not accuse Kayla of hacking school systems.
She had not.
They did not blame her for every Front Gate post.
Mia had authored some.
Others were joint.
But Kayla had founded and controlled the account.
The decision arrived Monday.
Kayla would not return to Westbridge that academic year.
She was suspended through June.
Before any application for readmission the following fall, she would have to complete counseling, restorative education, digital conduct programming, and a formal accountability statement.
Readmission was not guaranteed.
She lost all student leadership positions permanently.
Anna read the letter twice.
“Not expelled.”
Elena looked at her.
“How do you feel?”
“I don’t know.”
That afternoon, Ben found her at the library.
“So she might come back next year.”
“Yes.”
“You okay with that?”
“I don’t know.”
He sat opposite her.
“You say that a lot lately.”
“Because everyone wants instant opinions.”
Ben nodded.
“That’s fair.”
Anna opened The Odyssey, the water-damaged copy.
The pages crackled when she turned them.
Ben looked at it.
“You kept that?”
“The library let me.”
“Why?”
“Maybe I’m sentimental.”
“You?”
“Shut up.”
They studied.
For forty minutes, nobody mentioned Kayla.
That felt like progress.
Then Principal Mercer appeared.
“Anna, may I speak with you?”
She followed him outside.
“I wanted you to hear something directly from me.”
“What?”
“The Harris family has offered to fund the replacement of all damaged library materials and increase its annual scholarship donation.”
Anna stared.
“Because of what happened?”
“Apparently.”
She felt anger rise immediately.
“So they can donate their way out?”
“No.”
Mercer’s answer was firm.
“Kayla’s discipline is final and unrelated to donations.”
“Then why tell me?”
“Because Mrs. Harris proposed naming the additional scholarship fund after you.”
Anna’s mouth fell open.
“What?”
“I told her I would not consider it without asking.”
“No.”
Immediate.
Mercer nodded.
“No?”
“No.”
“Understood.”
Anna felt almost insulted.
“I don’t want a fund named after me because her daughter bullied me for being poor.”
“I suspected you might feel that way.”
“Then why would she suggest it?”
“Perhaps guilt.”
Anna thought about Victoria.
“Tell her to give the money if she wants.”
Mercer waited.
“But?”
“No name.”
He smiled slightly.
“I’ll tell her.”
As he walked away, Anna called after him.
“Mr. Mercer?”
“Yes?”
“Can scholarship donations be anonymous?”
“Of course.”
“Maybe suggest that.”
Mercer nodded.
Anna returned to the library.
Ben looked up.
“What was that?”
“Rich-people problem.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“It wasn’t.”
She opened her book.
For the first time, Anna understood something about power she had never considered.
Sometimes power was not getting your name on something.
May you like
Sometimes it was having the right to say you did not want your pain turned into somebody else’s monument.
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