Chapter 2: Questions at the Kitchen Table

...

We’ve all had crushes as teenagers. I could understand.

I thought back to my own high school days—passing notes in class, doodling hearts in the margins of my notebooks. Young love is messy, confusing, but it’s part of growing up.

I said to the principal, "As long as it doesn’t hurt the girl, I don’t mind if my son’s dating."

I tried to keep my tone light, hoping to defuse the tension. Maybe this was just a misunderstanding—a girl with a crush, a boy caught off guard.

"He was first in his class last semester, right? He can help tutor her."

I offered a smile, trying to focus on the positives. Maybe they were just study partners who got a little too close.

"If she wants to meet me, that’s fine too."

I tried to sound casual, like the kind of mom who’d invite her kid’s friends over for dinner and pretend not to eavesdrop. I wanted to show I wasn’t the enemy.

...

"Mrs. Brooks!" The principal raised her voice, cutting me off.

Her tone was sharp, almost scolding. I blinked, taken aback by her sudden intensity. The secretary outside glanced in, then quickly looked away.

She softened her tone and then spoke to my son behind me: "Come on, just tell us who wrote these."

She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. There was a challenge in her voice, a demand for answers. My son looked away, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

This wasn’t something unspeakable, especially since I didn’t object.

I tried to catch his eye, to reassure him. Whatever this was, we could handle it together. There was nothing shameful here.

But he said nothing.

He pressed his lips together, stubborn. I could see the flush creeping up his neck, the way his hands clenched at his sides.

The principal raised her voice again: "Your mom is right here—say it."

Her words echoed in the small office. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. My son just stared at the floor.

"Even you feel embarrassed, huh."

Her tone dripped with accusation, as if his silence was a confession. I felt my own cheeks burn, not with shame, but with anger on his behalf.

"Aren’t you ashamed?"

The words hit like a slap. I saw my son flinch, just barely. I wanted to step between them, to shield him from her judgment.

She was more emotional than I expected.

Her face was flushed, her hands trembling slightly as she gathered the notes. I realized then that this was more than a disciplinary issue for her—it was personal.

Seeing my son stay silent, she turned to me: "You know, sophomore year is a crucial time. If you mess up now, you’ll keep missing out."

She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, as if she’d delivered some universal truth. I recognized the speech—one I’d heard a dozen times from teachers who meant well but didn’t always understand.

Sophomore year is crucial, so are junior and senior years, and then freshman year in college is crucial too...

I almost laughed, thinking of all the times I’d heard that phrase. Every year is "crucial" when you’re a teenager. I wanted to remind her that life doesn’t end with a single mistake.

"To be honest, I’ve always thought Ethan wasn’t working hard enough, and now this happens."

She shook her head, disappointment etched in every line of her face. I bristled, wanting to defend my son, but I held my tongue.

"Isn’t this going to ruin his whole life?"

Her words hung in the air, heavy and final. I could see the fear in my son’s eyes, the way he shrank into himself.

...

She’s in her forties, has taught several graduating classes.

Her office was lined with photos of past students, trophies from academic competitions. She wore her experience like armor, convinced she knew what was best for every kid who walked through her door.

Her teaching skills are solid, but Ethan has told me more than once that he feels the principal doesn’t like him.

He’d say it in passing, a little shrug, but I could tell it bothered him. He tried so hard to please his teachers, to fit in, but something about her always put him on edge.

I asked him why, and he just scratched his head and said it was just a feeling.

He couldn’t put it into words, but I saw the way he tensed up whenever her name came up. Some things, you just sense.

I interrupted the principal: "Come on, isn’t it a bit much to judge someone’s whole life just because of a teenage crush?"

I tried to keep my voice even, but there was steel in it. I wanted her to know I wasn’t going to let her steamroll my son.

She was clearly surprised, then put her glasses back on.

She blinked, taken aback, then recovered quickly, hiding behind her professional mask. I watched her gather herself, ready for the next round.