“He hasn’t met me,” I said. “And he hasn’t met us.”

I looked at Lily. “You mentioned proof. Halloway said you needed physical proof. Do you have any?”

Lily hesitated, then nodded. She reached into her backpack and pulled out her laptop. She opened a hidden, password-protected folder labeled Biology Project.

Inside was not biology. It was an archive of trauma.

Screenshots of text messages: “Die.” “No one wants you here.” “You’re worthless.”

Pictures of bruises. Videos taken discreetly under desks of lockers being slammed. Screen captures of emails sent to teachers that went unanswered.

And then, the smoking gun.

“Where did you get these email threads?” I whispered, scrolling through a correspondence between the Vice Principal and Halloway.

Subject: The Carter Issue
From: Principal Halloway
“Ignore the complaints from the Carter girl. She’s seeking attention. If we document it, our incident numbers go up. Just manage her.”

“Ms. Reynolds gave them to me,” Lily said. “Ms. Chloe Reynolds. The new English teacher. She tried to help us. She tried to report the bullies. But Halloway threatened to fire her. She slipped a flash drive into my bag yesterday. She said, ‘Keep this safe until you find someone brave enough to use it.’”

Ms. Reynolds had risked her career to arm these children.

I felt a surge of adrenaline. This wasn’t just a bullying case anymore. This was a conspiracy.

I copied everything onto a secure cloud drive and two separate flash drives.

Then I turned to the kids. “Give me your parents’ numbers. All of them.”

“They’ll be mad,” Harper whispered.

“They won’t be mad at you,” I promised. “They’ll be mad for you.”

Within two hours, my living room was filled with parents. Confusion turned to shock, and shock turned to a volcanic anger as I projected the evidence onto my television screen.

David’s father, a large man with calloused hands, wept when he saw the video of his son being tripped in the cafeteria. Mia’s mother paced the room like a caged tigress.

“We go to the school right now,” David’s father growled. “I’ll tear that man apart.”

“No,” I said firmly, standing at the front of the room. “If we go in screaming, he calls security. He calls the police. He spins the narrative that we’re hysterical parents. We don’t just want to yell at him. We want to end him.”

The room went silent.

“We go public,” I said. “We hit him with everything at once. Legal, media, and administrative. We stage a coup.”

The following Monday was the monthly School Board meeting. Usually, these meetings were attended by three sleepy parents and the janitor.

Tonight, the auditorium was packed.

We had spent the weekend mobilizing. We hadn’t just gathered our small group; we had reached out quietly to other families, uncovering a history of negligence that went back years.

Principal Halloway sat at the head table, looking bored. He checked his watch, clearly expecting a routine evening of budget approvals.

When the floor was opened for public comment, I stood up.

“My name is Olivia Carter,” I said, my voice amplified by the microphone, steady and clear. “And I am speaking on behalf of the Student Safety Coalition.”

Halloway rolled his eyes. “Ms. Carter. If this is about a personal grievance, please schedule an appointment during office hours.”

“Oh, I have an appointment,” I said. “With the truth.”

At my signal, fifty parents stood up in unison. The sound of chairs scraping the floor echoed like thunder.

I didn’t just speak. I played the video.