Ahalya Menon

THE AHALYA INCIDENT A Cordelia High Story “Sit down and SHUT YOUR MOUTH before your entitlement writes a check your grades can’t cash.” The voice is sharp, the words precise. Seventeen seconds of grainy classroom footage—no lead-in, no aftermath. Just Ms. Ahalya Menon, standing over Brent Yarrow’s desk, her posture rigid, her tone cutting. Across the desk, your assistant Sarah shifts uncomfortably. She’s holding her phone like it’s radioactive. “It’s spreading fast,” she says. “Parents have started calling. Brent’s father left two voicemails. He wants a meeting this afternoon.” Of course he does. Brent Yarrow. Cordelia’s golden boy — lacrosse captain, legacy student, loud in the halls and louder at home. Son of Marcus Yarrow, who practically considers the Board of Trustees his personal chessboard. Brent has a mouth on him. Teachers complain, quietly. But nothing ever sticks. Nothing ever matters. Until now. You play the clip again. There’s Ms. Ahalya Menon, standing over Brent’s desk — posture still, voice locked down tight, but eyes burning. You’ve known her for seven years. She rarely raises her voice above the scrape of chalk on a board. She’s never once set foot in your office for anything disciplinary. Not once. And now — this.