The sculpture from the shelf was a pile of dust and shards of pottery clay. Tiana stood over the mess with a metal pole in her hand, the kind janitors use to open and close tall window blinds.

“Tiana!” I screamed.

Kira, Elliot on her heels, ran from the storage room before I could get to her sculpture, shattered into nothing.

“Oh,” Kira said, and I could hear the tears in her voice. “Oh.” She picked up one round, curved piece. “What happened?”

“I was trying to get it down for you,” Tiana sighed. “You shouldn’t leave things in here if you’re not enrolled; this isn’t your personal storage unit.” She leaned the pole back in the corner where she’d found it, strolled over to the teacher’s desk, and sat down to stare at her phone.

“Tiana,” Elliot said. “What is wrong with you?”

Elliot and I knelt to help Kira pick up the pieces.

Tiana didn’t look up from her phone. “I was helping,” she drawled. “It was an accident. Jesus, calm down. I’m sure Michelangelo can whip up another dog tomorrow.”

“It was a dog?” I asked.

“Terry Johnson,” she whispered.

I stood so fast I knocked a chair over.

Everyone in the room looked silently from Kira to me to Tiana and back. Tiana didn’t seem to mind; she just sat and texted, laughing softly and probably scrolling through selfies.

I stepped toward her.

“Muir, don’t,” Kira begged. “It’s done, please, let’s just go.”

The other kids just kept creepily watching the show.

“Did any of you see Tiana smash Kira’s sculpture?” I asked. They all mumbled a group no.

Tiana smirked.

“Well, thanks,” I said. “You’ve all been super helpful.” And I stood at the teacher’s desk, inches from Tiana’s fake, smiling face, glaring down at her while Elliot helped Kira scoop the remains of the Terry Johnson sculpture in a plastic bag.

“Muir,” Kira said. “Come on.” She and Elliot had their stuff and stood waiting for me by the classroom door. Tiana looked up from her phone.

“Better go with your friends.” She smiled.

On the front steps of the school I put my arms around Kira—backpack, bag of sculpture pieces, and all. “Why?” I begged. “Why can’t we go after her? We’ll tell Mr. Taxera, and she’ll be kicked out tomorrow.”

“No one saw her do it,” she said. “Not even you. He’ll never believe me.”

“I’m so sorry,” Elliot said miserably. “If a guy pulled that shit, I could punch him, but with a girl, I mean…what do you do with that?”

“The age-old question, my friend,” I said. “You did the right thing.”

“I didn’t do anything!”