I sat down across from him. The table between us was bolted to the floor. The guard by the door watched without watching.
"Because someone should have helped you a long time ago," I said. "And no one did. Including me."
Tommy shook his head. "You reported the abuse. That was?—"
"That was the bare minimum. And then I moved on." I held his gaze. "I'm not going to do that again."
Tommy was crying now. Quiet tears slid down his face, dripping onto the orange fabric of his jumpsuit. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't want to hurt you. I just wanted someone to see?—"
"I know." I reached across the table and took his hand. The guard shifted but didn't intervene. "I see you, Tommy. I should have seen you sooner."
"I'm going to try," he whispered. "To get better. I don't want to be angry forever."
"That's all I ask."
We sat in silence for a moment. His hand was cold in mine. A nineteen-year-old boy who'd been failed by everyone, including me.
Then Tommy said, "The firefighter. The one who came for us."
My chest tightened. "Shane?"
"He visited me. A couple of days ago."
I blinked. "He did?"
"He told me to get better. He said that's how I make it up to you." Tommy's voice steadied, just a little. "By not wasting the chance you gave me."
I didn't know what to say.
Shane visited Tommy. While I was refusing to see him, while I was pushing him away, he was visiting the kid who almost killed us both. Not to confront him. Not to threaten him. To tell him to get better.
Who does that?
The temporary school was a converted community center in Sunnyside. Different hallways, different classrooms, same fluorescent lights and coffee that tasted like resignation.
P.S. 147 would take months to rebuild. Maybe longer. For now, we made do with folding tables and borrowed supplies and windows that didn't quite close all the way.
I was grading papers when a shadow fell across my desk.
"Ms. Cummins."
I looked up. Brian Torres stood in the doorway.
‘Just don't break him, okay? He's not as tough as he looks.’
His words from Christmas echoed in my head. I'd promised nothing, but I'd nodded like it meant something, like I understood what that would cost.
"Got a minute?"
I set down my pen. "Brian. Is everything okay?"
“I need to tell you something about Shane.”
My stomach dropped.
If something had happened to him—if he'd been hurt and I'd been ignoring him?—
“Is Shane okay?”
