That terrifies me.
I swing my legs off the bed and stand there longer than necessary, staring at the floor, waiting for answers. My phone sits on the small table by the window, exactly where I left it. Screen dark. Silent.
I grab it before the coffee’s even on.
Because if I don’t check now, I’ll imagine everything going wrong by nine a.m. And I can’t fix what I can’t see.
My thumb hovers over Principal Jenks’s number, then I set my phone down and reach for the landline mounted by the kitchen.
I don’t want to be that parent who calls too often. The one who’s labeled difficult. The one who overreacts.
But I’m already past that line.
Because this isn’t about scraped knees or missed homework. This is about my kid learning that being different makes you a target. About her wondering if something’s wrong with her family, with her life, with her.
I dial the number.
The phone rings once.
Twice.
I stare out the window at the trees, bare branches scratching the sky, reaching for something solid.
The line clicks, and then, “Boone Taylor.”
“Morning, Principal Jenks.” My voice sounds calm. I don’t feel it.
“Good morning, Boone. I was actually planning to call you later today.”
That twists low in my gut. “Is Sadie okay?”
“She’s fine,” Jenks says immediately. “She’s in class. But I know you’re calling about what has been going on.”
I close my eyes.
“Yeah, I am.” I pause. “I think Sadie is still struggling, and I want to know what’s happening with Eli.”
“Eli has been spoken to,” Jenks says. “Firmly. His behavior has crossed a line, and we’ve addressed that with both him and his mother.”
“And Carol?” I ask. “How did she take it?”
“She was… defensive,” Jenks admits. “But she understands this will not be tolerated.”
I stare at the floor.
“Understanding and changing aren’t the same thing.”
“No,” Jenks agrees. “They aren’t.”
“I don’t want Sadie labeled,” I say quietly. “Not as sensitive. Or difficult.”
“She’s a lovely child,” Jenks says without hesitation. “And she is not the problem here.”
I breathe out slowly, the kind of breath that scrapes on the way out.
“I just need to know what you’re doing to make sure this doesn’t keep happening,” I say. “Because I can’t be there every minute. And I won’t teach her to toughen up just so other people can stay comfortable.”
“You won’t have to,” Jenks replies. “We’re increasing supervision during unstructured times. We’re having a classroom conversation about kindness and family differences. And I will personally check in with Sadie.”
