The voice belonged to Mrs. Vane, the chemistry teacher. I knew her type\u2014cold eyes and a smile that never reached them. She had complained about Maya\u2019s wheelchair \u201cscuffing the floors\u201d during the first parent-teacher conference.<\/p>\n
\u201cLook at this mess,\u201d a man\u2019s voice joined in. Mr. Henderson. The history teacher who prided himself on his Ivy League degree. \u201cYou can\u2019t even pick up a pencil without making a scene. Honestly, it\u2019s embarrassing for the school to have\u2026 equipment like yours cluttering the aisles.\u201d<\/p>\n
My hand hovered over the doorknob. My pulse hammered in my neck.<\/p>\n
I peered through the crack.<\/p>\n
The classroom was empty of other students. Just Henderson, Vane, and the Vice Principal, Mr. Sterling. They were standing in a semi-circle around Maya.<\/p>\n
Maya was shrinking into her wheelchair. Her shoulders were hunched, her head down. She looked tiny.<\/p>\n
Henderson was holding a sketchbook.\u00a0The<\/em>\u00a0sketchbook. The leather-bound one I had hand-stitched for her birthday, embossing her initials on the cover.<\/p>\n
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