It was Kennedi’s cheer coach.
“Hold on,” I told Kemi, answering it. “Hello?”
“Mr. Givelle?” the coach’s voice came through, professional but hesitant. “Hi. I was wondering if you could come down to the school for a quick meeting.”
“When?”
“Uh… right now.”
I sat up straighter. “Is Kennedi okay?”
“She’s fine,” the coach said quickly. “I just think it would be better if we discussed this in person.”
“I’m on my way,” I said, already standing. I hung up and looked at Kemi. She didn’t even ask since she could read my face.
“School?” she guessed.
“Yeah.”
“Go. And call me after.”
I nodded, halfway to the door.
I pulled out of the school parking lot with Kennedi in the passenger seat, scrolling on her phone like she was the one mad. Which irritated me more than the fact that I had just left a meeting about my daughter being sent home early.
I reached over and snatched the phone out of her hand.
“Dad!” she snapped.
“Nah,” I said, holding it out of her reach. “We don’t get sent home for cursing in class and then sit in my car texting like nothing happened.”
She crossed her arms and stared straight ahead.
“What are you even cursing for?”
She didn’t say anything like she didn’t hear me.
“Kennedi.”
“He deserved it.”
Her response caught me off guard because what the fuck do she mean he deserved it? She looked out the window.
“One of the boys in my class… he made a joke.”
Her voice cracked just enough for me to notice that she was trying her best not to cry.
“A joke about what?”
“About me being in prison.”
“What?”
She blinked fast, trying to stop her tears, but it wasn’t helping.
“He said my parents won't let me go anywhere because… because whore must be in my blood and they’re trying to force me on another path.”
The words hit me like somebody punched my chest. I don’t think most adults are aware of how cruel kids could be.
