As we filed out of the meeting, the hallway buzzed with conversation, snippets of concern and anger echoing against the walls. I caught up with Mr. Grant, who was deep in thought, his brow furrowed.
“Do you think it will make a difference?” I asked, falling into step beside him. He paused for a moment before answering, “It depends on us. On how willing we are to confront the uncomfortable truths.”
His words lingered with me as I walked home, the weight of responsibility settling in. The amendment was a start, but it couldn’t be the end. Not if we wanted real change.
Over the next few days, I found myself caught in a web of meetings and discussions, each one peeling back another layer of the school’s carefully maintained facade. It was exhausting, but necessary.
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