She rose from the bench too quickly, her knees shaking as blood rushed to her ears, and she forced herself to meet his gaze despite the burning humiliation tightening in her chest.
“Dad,” she whispered. “I am fine. Please. It is not a big deal.”
“No,” Calvin replied, his tone steady and final. He walked to the trash bin and placed the ruined sandwich inside with deliberate care. “This will never be acceptable.”
He turned slowly, his eyes sweeping across the room, lingering on the students wearing luxury accessories, on trays overflowing with untouched food, and finally on the teachers who stood stiffly along the walls, their gazes fixed anywhere but on him.
“And who,” he asked, his voice calm yet heavy with meaning, “decided that this was an appropriate way to treat my child.”
No one spoke.
The silence stretched uncomfortably until a girl stepped forward from a nearby table, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her expression polished into practiced arrogance. Her name was Brielle Hartman, and she had never learned what it felt like to doubt her position.