I smile through it.
“And I will always be grateful for that.”
They lean into me, arms wrapping around me, and I hold them close.
And in that moment,
my heart is full.
Dexter
Eight Years Earlier
Mr. Sweeny has always hated me.
Not the loud kind. The quiet kind. The kind that hides behind policies and polite smiles.
He’s told me more than once that my ADHD diagnosis is bullshit. That it’s just an excuse to do less than everyone else.
“You’re not going to graduate high school, Dexter.”
He says it calmly, like it’s already decided.
The fluorescent light above him buzzes, the clock ticking too loud at the same time, and my brain latches onto both until I can’t separate them, can’t shut either of them out.
I bite the inside of my cheek, hands curling into fists against my thighs.
“Why the hell not?”
He slides a file toward me. “Too many absences.”
Numbers. Dates. Columns.
I’ve counted them. Over and over.
“That’s wrong,” I say too fast. “I still have forty hours left.”
“Your November medical certificate,” he replies, “was submitted outside the acceptable time frame.”
It takes a second to land.
November. Surgery. Three weeks out.
“I brought it in the first day I was back.”
“School policy requires documentation within three days.”
My thoughts scatter. Three days. Did I miss it? Did Mom? Did I forget?
“You can’t do that,” I say, but it already feels like I’ve lost.
“The policy is applied equally,” he says.
Except it isn’t.
“You’ll need to repeat senior year.”
Something inside me snaps tight.
