The next morning, my phone rang just after 7 a.m.
“Nancy?” the voice said. “This is Mr. Henderson. I need you and Brennan in my office this morning.”
People around us cried openly.
There was something in his tone that made my stomach clench.
“We’ll be there,” I said.
The school felt different that morning.
Brennan walked beside me, hands in his pockets.
“You think I’m in trouble?” he asked.
I glanced at him. “Did you do something wrong?”
He thought about it.
Then shook his head. “No.”
“Then we’ll deal with whatever it is.”
I said it as if I believed it. I wasn’t sure I did.
“We’ll be there.”
Mr. Henderson, the school principal, didn’t smile when we walked in.
He stood behind his desk, a thick black folder before him.
“Have a seat.”
Henderson took a deep breath and continued.
“Do you even know what this reckless act will cost your son?”
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