Ms. Hendrix sat with a concerned, sympathetic expression as Thomas stepped into her office.

  The look caught him off guard—he wasn’t used to seeing that kind of worry directed at him.

  Ms. Hendrix:

  “I want to talk to you about something Ruth shared with me. But first… tell me about your week.”

  Thomas walked her through the events, giving a light summary. He assumed she would ask for details if she needed them. But when he reached the conversation with Ruth and Sholomoh, he paused. He took several slow breaths and pictured himself lying next to Shoshana, her hand in his. The memory steadied him enough to continue.

  Ms. Hendrix’s eyes softened.

  Ms. Hendrix:

  “What were you just visualizing?”

  Thomas:

  “Over the weekend I got overwhelmed. I went back to my room and lay down, replaying everything that happened. I didn’t even hear Shoshana come in—she just grabbed my hand and lay next to me. It… helped. It was a comfortable moment.”

  Ms. Hendrix:

  “I can imagine it was. But you stopped your story. Why?”

  Thomas:

  “Because the next part is probably what you wanted to talk to me about. In Sholomoh’s office, they brought up two things: the final event that made me leave my father’s house and go to the Telesky’s… and some inappropriate attention I got from girls in eighth grade.”

  Ms. Hendrix leaned back, studying him closely.

  Ms. Hendrix:

  “I think I’m starting to see a pattern with you. That last statement—‘inappropriate attention’—is so understated it would almost sound like nothing… if I didn’t know you.”

  She folded her hands.

  Ms. Hendrix:

  “What I thought was a personality quirk might actually be a survival mechanism. You’ve learned to be honest only at the level you think people can handle.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Her voice lowered.

  Ms. Hendrix:

  “I cannot imagine what it’s been like to be you. The fact this has never come up before tells me there were failures at every level. And it explains some of your responses when interacting with girls your age.”

  Thomas looked down.

  Thomas:

  “I just dealt with it.”

  Ms. Hendrix:

  “Thomas… up until this week, you seemed like a kid who just had a rough time adjusting. But for you to admit—even once—that you didn’t feel safe?”

  She shook her head.

  “That’s like riding a bull during a hurricane and calling it normal.”

  She hesitated, then spoke gently.

  Ms. Hendrix:

  “I honestly don’t know if you were ever truly safe growing up.”

  She exhaled slowly.

  Ms. Hendrix:

  “And then… to have someone in your life who was actively antagonistic toward you? If you wrote a poem and didn’t share it, let me ask—was there a name in it? Any clue who it was about?”

  Thomas:

  “No. It was with the rest of the poems I wrote.”

  Ms. Hendrix:

  “Then that wasn’t what made you feel unsafe.”

  Thomas:

  “No. It wasn’t.”

  Ms. Hendrix:

  “Then what was?”

  Thomas swallowed hard.

  Thomas:

  “When I realized my dad had no idea what was happening. It was like… a revelation to him. I thought he knew. I thought he was letting things happen to make me stronger.”

  Ms. Hendrix froze. Her fingers tightened under the desk. Only professional discipline kept her expression from breaking.

  Ms. Hendrix:

  “Thomas… did you tell Ruth that when your dad picked you up from your aunt’s house, he drove you to a levee and told you to run? And that if your step-siblings caught you, they would beat you because they didn’t like you? And your father didn’t see that as a problem?”

  Thomas:

  “Yes.”

  A long silence.

  Ms. Hendrix:

  “Do you hate your father?”

  Thomas:

  “No. I just… don’t trust him.”

  She closed her folder.

  Ms. Hendrix:

  “If the worst you feel is that you don’t trust him, then you are better than most. I’m ending the session for today. I’m sending you back to Ruth. I’ll call ahead so she knows you’re coming.”

  At Home

  Later, near the end of the school day, a knock sounded at the Mendelson door.

  Ruth answered it.

  Veronica stood there, holding Thomas’s missed homework. Her face shifted immediately when she saw him on the couch. She hurried to him, sat down, and wrapped her arms around him for a long, quiet moment.

  Her voice was small, worried.

  Veronica:

  “Is Thomas okay?”

  Ruth:

  “He’ll be fine. He just had a hard discussion with Ms. Hendrix today. Sweetheart, you’re doing everything anyone can do. Don’t stay too long. He needs time to process.”

  After a few minutes, Thomas shifted and reached for the homework.

  Thomas:

  “Thanks. We can talk about it later. Don’t worry—our date is still on for this weekend.”

  He managed a faint smile.

  Thomas:

  “I’ll see you tomorrow. Please don’t tell the others. I don’t want them to worry.”