Page 90 of Kisses and Paperclips

She blinked.

“You’ve never met the man, and you called him first?”

“I—”

“I’m the one who packs his lunches, reviews his homework, and remembers which nights are robotics and which are therapy. I’m the one who shows up.”

“I apologize,” she said, too quickly. “It wasn’t intentional—”

“But it always is,” I snapped. “Our father has never stepped foot in this school. Not once. Not for a meeting. Not for a performance. Nothing. And now—suddenly—you have concerns, and instead of calling the only person who shows up, you reach for his estranged father?”

I could feel my voice thickening. Heat rising behind my eyes. Rage living just beneath my skin, begging to be let out.

“I want to see my brother.”

Principal Franklin nodded stiffly and made the call.

Zamir walked in a few minutes later, shoulders stiff, lips pressed tight. He didn’t meet my eyes. Just slid into the chair next to me like he was already bracing for whatever came next.

Brooding. Closed off. But I knew that look.

He wasn’t just angry. He was ashamed.

Principal Franklin cleared her throat.

“We’ve had… a situation. Earlier today, Zamir was involved in an altercation with another student.”

My spine straightened. “A fight?”

She nodded, folding her hands neatly. “Yes. He threw the first punch.”

Before she could say more, I raised my hand. “It’s his first incident.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “It was his first incident,” she corrected, voice slow, deliberate. “But it wasn’t the only one.”

She sighed, long and theatrical, like she’d been waiting to get this off her chest.

“He was also caught cutting both his first and second period classes earlier this week. Mr. Harris was made aware of both situations.”

My breath stalled.

“Mr. Harris was what?”

“Made aware,” she repeated.

Zamir’s shoulders hunched deeper into the seat.

I stared at her like she’d grown a second head.

“So let me get this straight,” I said, voice tight and low.

“Zamir gets into one fight, his first ever, in all the years he’s been here, and instead of calling me, the person who actually raises him, you reach out to the man who doesn’t live in our house, doesn’t know his schedule, and barely remembers his birthday?”

Ms. Franklin bristled.

“Excuse me, Ms. Harris, but Mr. Harris has been involved. He was just here for Dad Brunch last week. He’s even been having lunch with Zamir a few days a week. He’s met with me and several of his teachers.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve.

---