Badass in Disguise
<b>Chapter </b><b>24 </b>
I leaned against the brick wall outside the school entrance, checking my watch for the <b>third </b>time. The afternoon sun beat down on my face, warming my skin despite the crisp spring air. Students streamed past me, casting curious nces my way–word about my academic integrity hearing had spread like wildfire.
A sleek ck Mercedes pulled up to the curb, drawing even more attention. The engine purred <b>to </b><b>a </b>stop, and out stepped a man who looked like he’d walked straight off a GQ cover<b>. </b>Chris Jensen stood about six–foot–two, with dark hair perfectly styled, wearing a charcoal suit. His presence immediatelymanded attention, making the chattering students fall silent.
Even before Night had mentioned him to me, I’d known about Chris Jensen. His reputation preceded him–America’s most formidable trialwyer who had never lost a case. Street gangs respected him<b>, </b>calling him “Mr. Jensen” with a reverence usually reserved for mob bosses. Rumors circted that he was the son of the head of America’srgest crime syndicate, though anyone foolish enough to investigate those ims found their lives systematically dismantled.
“Ms. Morgan?” he asked, his voice smooth and controlled:
I nodded. “Mr. Jensen. Thank you foring.”
We found an empty ssroom, and I watched as he ced his briefcase on a desk.
“Tell me exactly what happened,” he said, his eyes sharp. “Don’t omit any details.”
I exined the situation methodically: the AP Calculus exam I’dpleted in twenty–five minutes, Mr. Peterson’s usations, the initial hearing where they’d refused to let me demonstrate my
abilities.
“They’re convinced I cheated because my previous grades were bad, and because I didn’t show my work on the exam,” I concluded.
Jensen nodded<b>, </b>his expression thoughtful. “They’re making assumptions based on past performance rather than considering current evidence.” He closed his briefcase with a decisive click. “Let’s go change their minds.”
The academic integritymittee members were already seated when we arrived at <b>the </b><b>hearing </b>room. Their eyes widened collectively when they saw Chris Jensen <b>walk </b><b>in </b>behind <b>me</b><b>. </b><b>Mr. </b><b>Peterson</b>,
6:58 Tue, Sep 16
who had been leaning casually against the wall, immediately straightened his posture.
“Excuse me,” themittee chairwoman said, adjusting her sses nervously, “but who is this gentleman?”
“Chris Jensen,” he replied before I could speak, handing her his business card. I’m Ms. Morgan’s legal representative.”
Mr. Peterson stepped forward, his face flushing slightly. “This is just a school academic integrity matter. There’s no need forwyers to be involved.”
Jensen smiled–the kind of smile that doesn’t reach the eyes. “Any allegation that could impact a student’s future academic prospects deserves proper representation.”
He pulled out a thick folder and ced it on the table.
“Before we begin,” he said, “I’d like to present some documentation.”
He slid copies of what appeared to be a legal brief across the table to eachmittee <b>mer </b>
“This is… a defamation im?” the chairwoman asked, her voice rising slightly.
“Along with academic misconduct allegations against the school and relevant faculty,” Jensen confirmed, his tone matter–of–fact. “To be filed only if necessary, of course.”
Mr. Peterson snatched up his copy, flipping through it with growing agitation. “This is ridiculous! We’re following standard procedure for a suspected cheating case.”
“Procedure?” Jensen raised an eyebrow. “Is it standard procedure to deny a student the opportunity to demonstrate their knowledge?”
“My client,” Jensen continued, “has the right to prove her abilities in a fair environment. She’s willing to take any test you put before her.”
Mr. Peterson broke the silence, his voice dripping with disdain. “Hiring a fancywyer doesn’t change the facts, Ms. Morgan. Your historical academic performance has been mediocre at best. Suddenlypleting an exam in twenty–five minutes with perfect answers and no work shown? It’s imusible.”
I met his gaze directly. “Is it imusible, Mr. Peterson, or are you simply unable <b>to </bprehend that a student might understand concepts beyond your teaching capacity?”
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“Your previous records don’t support your im of mathematical genius, onemittee member finally said.
‘My previous choice not to demonstrate my abilities doesn’t negate their existence,” I replied coolly. “That’s a historical induction facy–assuming past performance determines current capability.”
Mr. Peterson’s face flushed crimson. “Don’t try to distract us with fancy terminology!”
“My client is willing to take any test right now, under your supervision,” Jensen added.
Before anyone could respond, a knock at the door interrupted the proceedings. Dr. Thompson rose to answer it, his expression shifting from annoyance to surprise as he pulled the door open.
A tall man in an expensive suit stepped into the room. I recognized him immediately from campaign posters around town–Felix Huxley, the mayor of Cloud City.
“Good afternoon,” he said, his deep voice filling the room. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything
important.”
Themittee members scrambled to their feet, murmuring greetings.
“Mayor Huxley, this is unexpected. What brings you to our school today?” Dr. Thompson asked.
Felix Huxley smiled, the practiced smile of a career politician. “I heard that Cloud City High was handling an academic integrity case today. As mayor, I take a personal interest in ensuring our educational system operates with fairness and transparency.”
“We were just discussing the appropriate way to resolve this matter,” the chairwoman exined.
“Indeed,” Jensen interjected. “My client has been used of cheating on an exam, despite no evidence beyond the fact that shepleted it quickly and correctly. She’s offered to demonstrate her knowledge in person, but that request has been denied.”
Mayor Huxley nodded thoughtfully. “That seems like a reasonable request to me. Wouldn’t the simplest solution be to let the youngdy prove herself?”
“Exactly what I proposed,* Jensen agreed. “A supervised test of equal difficulty would resolve any doubts.”
Dr. Thompson, seemingly eager to impress the mayor, stepped forward. “I believe that’s a sensible approach. We’ve always prioritized fairness at Cloud City High.”
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6:58 Tue<b>, </b>Sep 16
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Mr. Peterson alone seemed unwilling to concede. “Even if she passes a new test, it doesn’t prove she didn’t cheat on the original.”
Jensen’s smile was razor–sharp. “You’re right, Mr. Peterson<b>, </b>we can’t prove a negative about past events. But the burden of proof for cheating allegations lies with the user, and so far your only evidence is the speed ofpletion andck of written work–not actual proof of misconduct. A supervised demonstration would establish that Ms. Morgan possesses the capability to perform at this level legitimately. If you have concrete evidence of cheating beyond your assumptions about her abilities, I’d be interested to see it. Otherwise, preparing a new set of problems seems the most equitable solution. Unless, of course, you’re concerned she might actually seed?”
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