"Sometimes speaking up makes things worse for the person you're trying to help," Naina said. "Did you write that about the book, or about something else?"
A pause. A controlled twelve-year-old pause. "About the book," she said.
"Okay," Naina said. She did not push back. "Then let me ask a different question. In the book — do you think the people who knew the truth but didn't speak up were wrong?"
Meera blinked. This was not the question she had been bracing for. "I—" She thought about it. "Some of them were afraid," she said slowly. "Some of them had reasons."
"Did having reasons make them not-wrong?"
"No," Meera said. Then: "But it made them more understandable."
"Do you think understanding someone's reasons for staying quiet is the same as forgiving them for it?"
Meera's hands tightened on the notebook. "I don't know," she said. Quietly. And then she said something she clearly hadn't meant to say, that came out before the mechanism could stop it: "I'm trying to figure that out."
Naina was very still. She said, gently: "Me too." A pause. "Meera. I want you to know something. I don't work for the school — I mean they're paying me, but my loyalty is to whoever in this situation deserves it, and I'm still working out who that is. I'm a substitute. I have no history here, no investment in any particular version of things. I just want to know what's actually happening."
Meera looked at her. The controlled expression was doing something complicated underneath. "Ms. Rao—" she started.
