9.4.9 Student Test Scores -

blinked at her.

Kayla never raised her hand. She sat in the back, hoodie strings pulled tight, drawing dragons in the margins of her worksheets. Everyone assumed she didn't care. She let them assume. It was easier than explaining that her family had moved three times this year, that she did her homework in a laundromat, that the Wi-Fi in the shelter cut out at 8 PM sharp. 9.4.9 Student Test Scores

Not 94. Not 9.49. But 9.4.9 – a formatting glitch. A null value. The software, for all its sleek data visualization and predictive algorithms, had no category for a student who missed six weeks of school, who logged in from a phone hotspot, who turned in three assignments late because she was translating instructions for her mother at a night janitor job. blinked at her

Across the room, Mia stared at a . Red flag. Red ? How could a 94 be red? She scrolled down. The algorithm noted a 2-point decline from last semester. Decline. At-risk. Intervention suggested. Her throat closed. She had stayed up until 1 AM rewriting her essay on The Giver . She had memorized quadratic formulas in the lunch line. But the machine didn't see effort. It saw a number go down. Everyone assumed she didn't care

She felt seen .

For the first time in weeks, she didn't feel invisible.

She closed the tablet. Slid it into her backpack. Pulled her hoodie tighter.