Page 78 of The Lies Always Told

I look up from my phone, and Cody’s not shaking anymore. He’s just sitting without moving an inch, waiting. Waiting for what? For me to say something, or for his brother to call back?

I sit across from him and study him. His shoulders are slouched, and he’s looking between his feet. There’s so much sorrow in his posture, so much sadness.

“Is there anything you’d like to report, Cody?” I ask gently, keeping my voice steady despite the unease twisting inside me. I need him to feel safe here, but my gut is telling me this is more than just a bad morning. My gut is telling me there’s more going on.

“I don’t want to get him in trouble,” he whispers, his face strained with the weight of his words. I can hear the guilt in his tone, the fear of speaking up.

“Why would he be in trouble? Who would he be in trouble with?”

“They take it out on him.”

“Who, sweetie? Who takes it out on who?”

Before he can respond, the bell rings, sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife. Cody stands, wiping his face quickly, and moves toward the door.

“I’ll be okay,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. He fumbles getting his backpack and opening the door, but he’s so fast, I can’t stop him.

“No, Cody, wait.” He doesn’t listen to me and leaves without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.

I sit back in my chair, the ominous feeling still clinging to me. What was that? I can’t shake it. Something’s wrong. No amount of training preps you for this moment. What do I do? He’s clearly shaken. He’s clearly upset, but he didn’t say anyone hurt him. He was just worried about his brother. He is upset, so maybe his brother was just upset too.They take it out on him. Who? Who? I don’t even know the kid’s name. I can’t even text Jake or Nick because what do I even say?

Should I report this? But report what? Hi, a student said his brother felt off, and his parents were screaming this morning. Is that grounds for a report? That’s not technically abuse, right? All the training we go through with scenarios, laws, words for us to identify, and so much more doesn’t really prepare you for when you’re faced with a real-life scenario, when you’re faced with some grey areas. Check this, check that. Active assailant, abuse, neglect, force, code yellow, lockdown, school shooting, locked doors, suicide, risk of harm—all words you hear in training, but nowhere does it prepare you for the ambiguity. Real life is not a checklist of situations; it’s a case-by-case scenario.

I rub my temples, trying to push away the unease that settled deep in my chest. Maybe I’m overthinking it, and the headache doesn’t help. Maybe it’s just a bad morning, a rough patch in their family. God knows plenty of kids walk in here every day with baggage they’ll never unpack in front of a teacher. But something about the way Cody said it, the way his voice barely held together—I’ll be okay.

I glance at the door, half-expecting him to walk back in. He doesn’t.

What if I do report it, and it’s nothing? It shouldn’t matter, though; by law, I have to, even if just for a wellness check. I don’t even know the kid’s last name. Oh, duh, Nellie. I can go look at his cumulative folder and see his family history. Maybe I should start there. This. I can focus on what I can do and go from there.

I pace until my thoughts are so jumbled, I can’t think straight. The brother doesn’t call back. Cody doesn’t come back in. I might get sick. I walk to the front office so I can find his folder in the records. I don’t want to break his trust, but what if something is seriously wrong? What if they hurt them, and Cody didn’t tell me? What if they take food away from them? What if they hurt the brother and not Cody, but he somehow knows?

This is more than I can handle. I need to report this. If I’m worrying about them taking food away from them, then that’s neglect. Textbook neglect.That, I have to report. Cody might hate me, but I would hate myself if something happened and I didn’t say something. Where is the line between guiding the youth and helping them? Where is the line drawn between me listening and just worrying or raising a caution flag?

I knock on Principal Davis’ office door. No response. So, I sink into the same chairs I sat in so many times as a student, treading water in the silence. I used to sit here, waiting for someone to pull me to shore—waiting when I was sent to advanced classes, when I picked at my scabs until I bled, when the waves of school life became too much, when I neededsomeone to notice I was drifting, waiting for someone to see me before I went under.

I promised myself I would never let a child drown in the depths of feeling unseen. I swore I would be the one to throw a lifeline. So why did it take me half a day to act on Cody? To say something? Had I missed the ripples, the small signs of struggle? Had he been struggling just beneath the surface while I, oblivious, let him slip away? And for how long? We’ve been in school for weeks now, and I never saw it. He’s just quiet, I told myself. He looks happy.But so did I, and nobody saw me either.What if he has been suffering all along?

The soft hum of the office copier is the only sound as I wait for the principal to get back. I can see Ms. Laura in the front, typing away as usual as I wait in the freezing waiting area. The fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead as I ponder my life choices, from every single decision I’ve made this school year to how rough I’ve been treating my body with the amount of wine I’ve ingested the past few days.

A loud beep shatters the quiet, and I all but jump in my seat. The Raptor system notification flashes across the computer screens and across the watch I always wear on my right wrist. “CODE RED – LOCKDOWN IN EFFECT. IMMEDIATE THREAT DETECTED.”

TWENTY-FOUR

RED

Mad World by Pentatonix;Everybody Hurts by Glee Cast;Already Gone by Sleeping At Last

Nellie

“CODE RED– LOCKDOWN IN EFFECT. IMMEDIATE THREAT DETECTED.”

My stomach drops. What the fuck? My breath catches in my throat. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.

From my spot near the front desk, I see Ms. Laura freeze for a second but then quickly retreat from her desk and walk inside, her walkie-talkie in one hand and her phone in the other. She reaches for the landline, her fingers shaking as she dials. She says something, but I can’t hear what. I just see her lips moving, her eyes tearing up, and her head bobbing up and down as she listens attentively to instructions.

Outside the glass doors of the main office, the hallways empty in seconds. Teachers pull students into classrooms, doors slamming shut, and the curtains behind themget pulled down. The panic is there just for a moment before everyone goes into action. Then there’s me, standing here, not remembering any of my training.

“Nellie, honey, come on,” Ms. Laura whispers, holding my hand and walking me to the teacher lounge next to the principal’s office, where she shoves me inside and closes the door behind us. “Do you have your phone? There was a message sent on Raptor.”

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