Page 48 of (My Accidental) Killer Summer
Carmichael’s mouth twitches. Whether in amusement or irritation is unclear. “No one is in medical danger, Mrs. Grant.”
“Progress,” I murmur, and step in.
The office is a catalog spread for institutional authority: framed diplomas, a poster about leadership featuring an eagle who looks like he thinks your latte order is weak, a tiny bowl of individually wrapped butterscotch that says I can buy you off for less than a nickel.
Carmichael folds her hands. “There was an incident at lunch.”
“I gathered,” I say, sitting without being told to. “My daughter was defending her sibling, yes?”
Ms. Thompson leans forward, smile so soothing it makes my molars ache. “Mrs. Grant, I want to first acknowledge how much you care about your children and how stressful this must be.”
“We’re acknowledging my love?” I blink. “For my kids? Wow. Okay. Will there be a certificate?”
Carmichael clears her throat. “Jillian punched another student, Thomas Carter. Witness accounts agree she initiated physical contact. That is a violation of our code of conduct.”
“And what does Jill say?” I ask.
“Pardon me?” This time it’s Carmichael who blinks.
“Jill?” I look to the doorway. “Can you come in here please?”
“Mrs. Grant, we don’t usually—” Ms. Thompson starts.
I hold a hand up to stop her. “If you’re saying my kid started something, I want to hear it from her.”
Jill slips in, slouches into the chair next to me, and stares at a spot on the carpet like she’s trying to burn a hole through it. Her chin trembles once before she forces it still.
“Tell me what happened,” I say, gently.
She swallows. “Tommy and his friend were at our table. They kept… they kept calling Jaq—” She stops, the words sticking. “They deadnamed them, Mom. Loud. Like they wanted everyone to hear. And they said… they said Jaq was an abomination.” Her voice breaks. “I told them to stop. He laughed. He said, ‘Sorry your sister is a freak.’ I told him Jaq’s not my sister. They’re my sibling. He said, ‘Whatever IT is claiming to be. We’ll just pants it and find out for sure.’”
Heat punches up my spine, blooms in my face. I look at Carmichael. “And then?”
Jill shrugs, helpless. “I stood up and said he couldn’t do that. He said he could. I told him to take it back. He said, ‘Make me,’ and he, like, hip-checked me, but with his shoulder. So… I made him.”
“And, by ‘made him’ you mean?” Carmichael asks, pen poised over a form like she’s taking a brunch order.
“I punched him,” Jill says. “In the nose. It was so gross. Blood started gushing out like a faucet, which is honestly on brand because he’s a giant drip.”
“Jill,” Ms. Thompson says. “We don’t need commentary.”
“Excuse me,” I say. “I need commentary. It helps me not scream.”
Carmichael slides a paper across the desk. “Unfortunately, we’ll need to give Jill a five-day suspension for violence.”
I laugh. It’s not a friendly laugh. “School ends in four.”
“Then the remaining day will be served at the start of next school year.”
“Oh, fabulous,” I say. “Just like unused cell minutes. Do you have double-points Tuesdays, too?”
“Mrs. Grant,” Ms. Thompson says, voice syrupy, “we understand this is upsetting.”
“I’m going to be really blunt, Ms. Thompson,” I say, “you clearly don’t understand shit. You’re punishing the kid who intervened and stood up to a bully threateningsexual assaultwhen your staff didn’t. That cafeteria has three adults in it every lunch period. Where were they while a boy turned my child into a megaphone for hate?”
“We’re following up with the lunch monitors,” Carmichael says. “For now, that’s a separate issue.”
“Explain to me how it’s a separate issue?” I lean forward. “Because right now I’m seeing it as a catalyst.”
