The Power in the Words
The group project had been Mia’s idea, and somehow that meant she had become the one doing most of it. It was Thursday afternoon, and the three of them — Mia, Declan, and Soraya — were supposed to be in the library finishing their section of the Year 9 science presentation. Declan had arrived twenty minutes late. Soraya hadn’t arrived at all.
“We’re almost out of time,” Mia said, keeping her voice steady. “The slide on water quality still needs three more data points and a graph.”
Declan looked up from his phone. “Soraya said she’d do that part.”
“Soraya isn’t here.”
“So text her.”
Mia had already texted her twice. She set her pen down carefully — a small gesture, but deliberate. “Declan, I need you to take the graph. I’ll do the data points.”
There was a pause. Declan put his phone face-down on the table, which Mia registered as a small victory. “That’s not really my job,” he said. “I did the introduction.”
“You wrote four sentences,” Mia said. It came out flatter than she intended, but she didn’t walk it back.
Declan’s jaw tightened. “I was going to add more.”
“We don’t have time for going to.” Mia slid the laptop across to him. “The template is already set up. You just need to paste in the figures and add the title.”
He looked at the screen for a moment, then at her. Something shifted — she could see it happen, though she couldn’t have named exactly what it was. The dynamic between them had changed: not dramatically, not with any shouting, just a small rebalancing of weight. He pulled the laptop toward him.
“Fine,” he said. “But you’re writing up the notes after.”
“That was already my job,” Mia said. “Thank you.”
She meant the thank you. She also knew it did more work than it appeared to — it closed the door on the argument without slamming it, and it reminded both of them that the conversation had ended on her terms.
Soraya appeared at ten past four, flushed and apologetic. “The bus — there was an accident on Mitchell Street, everything was backed up.”
Mia looked at her. She could have said several things. She chose the simplest. “We covered your section. Can you check our working before we export?”
It was not an accusation. But it was not nothing, either. The instruction — can you check our working — gave Soraya a job while making clear that Soraya’s absence had created one. Soraya understood. She sat down without further explanation and opened the data tab.
The three of them worked in near-silence for the next twenty minutes. When they finished and saved the file, Declan stretched and said, almost to himself, “That actually came together.”
“It did,” Mia said.
She didn’t add: because I made it. That would have been gratuitous — unnecessary and a little cheap, the kind of remark that wins the moment but costs something harder to recover. She had learned, slowly and mostly through error, that restraint in those moments was its own form of power. Saying less than you could say was sometimes the stronger move.
Walking out of the library, Soraya fell into step beside her. “Sorry I was late. Really.”
“I know,” Mia said. “It’s fine.”
It wasn’t entirely fine — the afternoon had been harder than it needed to be — but Mia had decided it was fine, which was close enough. That was a different kind of agency: not the ability to control what happened, but the ability to choose how much of it you carried forward.
Declan held the door open as they left. It was a small gesture. Mia noticed it without commenting. Some shifts didn’t need to be named to be real.
Check your vocabulary knowledge
- dynamic n.
- the way in which power or energy is distributed between people in a relationship
- gratuitous adj.
- unnecessary and serving no useful purpose; done for its own sake
- restraint n.
- the practice of holding back from saying or doing more than is needed
- agency n.
- the capacity to make deliberate choices and act on them in a situation
- deliberate adj.
- done consciously and intentionally, not by accident or impulse