Page 91 of Kisses and Paperclips

Zamir’s jaw ticked. Still wouldn’t look at me.

And that’s when the rage cracked, folding in on itself like something hollow underneath.

Because I wasn’t just angry.

I was hurt.

And I was scared.

Scared that I was losing him.

Scared that he’d started turning toward a man who had never earned the right to be called father.

Scared that no matter how much I gave, it might never be enough.

I forced myself to stay standing. To breathe. To not let the heat behind my eyes spill over and betray just how much of me was unraveling in this moment.

Ms. Franklin cleared her throat. “With your support, I think we can get him back on track. He’s a bright kid. Just needs a little structure—”

Something shifted in my peripheral vision.

Zamir.

He wasn’t sitting right.

His body was slumped low in the chair like gravity had doubled down on him. His arms hung loose at his sides, eyes glassy, unfocused. His head lolled slightly to the side.

I turned toward him, full attention on his face now—and something in me dropped.

“Zamir?” I leaned in, my voice tight.

Still no answer.

I reached for him, brushing the hair from his forehead. My hand stilled.

He was on fire.

“Oh my god,” I whispered. “He’s burning up.”

Ms. Franklin stood halfway between her chair and the door. “Is he—?”

“You tell me!” I snapped, rounding on her. “He’s been at school for an hour, and not one of you thought to send him to the nurse? Not one person thought maybe he wasn’t tired or acting out…he was sick?”

“I didn’t realize—”

“No, you didn’t,” I said, voice sharp. “Because you didn’t bother to look. You’ve had Zamir here for years. Perfect attendance. Top of his class. I’ve donated to this school personally. But the second he slows down, you don’t ask questions. You write him off.”

I reached for Zamir, pulling him gently toward me as his body gave in to exhaustion. His head fell against my shoulder.

“You didn’t ask what changed. You didn’t ask me. You called a man who hasn’t shown up to a single meeting. A man who doesn’t know his locker number, let alone how he’s been feeling.”

Ms. Franklin was quiet now. Good.

“You labeled him a problem,” I said, low and cutting. “And you treated me like I wasn’t even part of the equation.”

I shifted Zamir’s weight, grabbed my bag, and walked out the door.

And the moment it closed behind me, the silence hit.

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