-Đi Tìm-
Ms. Albright noticed. She always noticed the quiet ones. After the bell rang and the chatter about scores spilled into the hallway, she called out, "Kayla. Can you stay a moment?"
blinked at her.
The system didn't see Kayla. It saw an error.
Ms. Albright walked over, not with a printed report or a remediation plan, but with a piece of chalk. On the small blackboard by her desk – the one she kept for quotes and doodles – she wrote:
Kayla never raised her hand. She sat in the back, hoodie strings pulled tight, drawing dragons in the margins of her worksheets. Everyone assumed she didn't care. She let them assume. It was easier than explaining that her family had moved three times this year, that she did her homework in a laundromat, that the Wi-Fi in the shelter cut out at 8 PM sharp.
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