I crossed the hallway in four steps. “Robin.”
She turned and grabbed my jacket with both fists, pressing her face into my chest.
“Eddie… they ruined it again.”
I held her tightly.
Principal Dawson stepped out. “Some kids cornered her before first period. A teacher intervened, but it was already done.” He paused. “I’m sorry, son. We should’ve gotten there faster.”
I nodded, needing a moment before speaking. Then I let go of Robin, walked to the trash can, and picked up every piece.
I held them in the hallway light and made a decision.
Turning to the principal, I said, “I want to speak to the students involved. In the classroom. Now.”
He looked at me, then nodded. “Follow me.”
We walked down the hall together—Robin beside me—and I kept my pace steady. I wasn’t going in angry. I was going in clear. And in my experience, clarity carries further than anger.
I reached back and took Robin’s hand. She held on.
The classroom door was open. The students looked up as we entered.
I walked to the front without being asked. Robin stayed near the door. Principal Dawson stood to the side.
