Instead, it makes me feel… steadier.
Then I notice him watching one particular kid as the class settles into independent work.
A boy in the back corner. Small. Quiet. Hoodie pulled up even though it’s not cold. He’s not coloring. Not talking. He’s hunched over his desk like he’s trying to disappear.
My chest tightens.
Evan.
This kid is silence.
I walk over slowly and crouch beside him. “Hey, buddy,” I say softly. “How’s your morning?”
He doesn’t look up.
“Evan,” I say softly. “Do you want to draw with us? Or do you need a minute?”
His fingers tighten around his crayon like it’s the only thing anchoring him.
I don’t push.
I just sit beside him for a moment, letting the silence be safe instead of scary.
After a beat, he whispers so quietly I almost don’t hear it. “Can I… go to the bathroom?”
“Of course,” I say immediately. “Do you want me to walk with you?”
He shakes his head.
I glance toward the door.
Jack is already moving—stepping closer, position shifting.
He catches my eye.
I tilt my chin slightly toward Evan.
Jack nods once.
Evan slips out of his seat and walks toward the door, head down. Jack steps aside to let him pass—never touching him, never crowding him, just… existing as a calm presence in the hallway.
A minute later, Evan returns, and Jack follows behind at a distance like a shadow that keeps kids safe without making them feel hunted.
When Evan sits again, his shoulders are a fraction less tense.
My throat tightens.
Jack notices everything.
At recess, the kids swarm Jack like he’s a celebrity.
“Mr. Sinclair! Mr. Sinclair! SHOW US NINJA!”
Jack looks like he wants to flee into the desert.
I step beside him, grinning. “Congratulations. You’re famous.”
Jack’s eyes flick to mine, helpless. “Help me.”
