Proving Her Mettle

I froze mid-step before reaching the gym door. Walking out now wouldn't solve anything. In fact, it would only confirm what everyone already thought—that I was somehow less capable because of my dyslexia.

No. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

I turned slowly and marched back to where Professor Davies and Emma stood watching me with wary expressions.

"I'm not going anywhere," I said, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside me. "And I'm certainly not accepting any special treatment."

Professor Davies crossed his arms. "Miss Beaumont, the faculty has been instructed—"

"I don't care what instructions you've been given," I cut him off. "My dyslexia is a processing disorder, not a reflection of my intelligence or my physical capabilities."

Emma shifted uncomfortably beside her brother. At least she'd been defending me, but it wasn't enough.