Lucas thought of Angela in an operating room, hands steady beneath bright surgical lights. "Not if she's working."
Across the office, Principal Hayes was speaking rapidly on the telephone. A folder lay open before her, and she kept glancing toward a computer screen. Lucas heard the words arrival and security contact, followed by a name that made him sit upright.
"General Hughes," she said. "Yes, I have his child listed here. Of course we're glad he's coming."
For the first time since leaving class, a current of hope passed through Lucas. He almost stood to tell her what had happened. Then Hayes closed her eyes and pressed the phone closer to her ear, listening to something complicated, and Mrs. Daniels motioned him toward the vice principal's office. Lucas followed because he had spent his life being told that following instructions was how children avoided trouble.
After twenty minutes in the waiting area, Martin Thornton finally called Lucas in. He sat behind a wide desk crowded with attendance reports. He wore a school-logo polo shirt and khaki trousers. His office smelled of old paper, coffee, and the lemon polish the custodians used on Friday mornings. A photograph of his family sat beside a small plastic sign reading CHOICES HAVE CONSEQUENCES.
"Sit down, Lucas," he said.
The chair was high enough that Lucas's shoes barely reached the floor. Thornton opened an electronic discipline form and began typing before asking a question.
"Mrs. Whitmore reports that you disrupted Career Day by refusing to correct false information in your assignment. She also says you spoke disrespectfully when asked to apologize."
Lucas stared at his fingers. He had promised himself not to cry in this room. "I didn't lie, sir. My dad really is a general."
"Your father is Vincent Hughes?"
"Yes."
"Occupation listed as government employee?"
"Yes, because he works for the government. He serves in the Army."
Thornton rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Lucas, you need to understand that schools depend on accurate information. You cannot simply announce a prestigious title and expect everyone to accept it without explanation."
"But you can call him. Or my mom."
"Your mother appears to be a physician."
"She's a surgeon at Walter Reed."
Thornton gave a short, disbelieving laugh. He did not intend it as cruelty, which made its effect worse. "So your father is a four-star general, your mother is a surgeon, and you happen to live in that apartment complex?"
Lucas stared at him. "Yes."
The vice principal thought he was being patient. He had handled numerous children who exaggerated family circumstances because they wanted attention, and he placed Lucas into that familiar category without asking whether the category fit. "There's no need to be ashamed if your parents have ordinary jobs," he explained. "People from difficult family circumstances sometimes create stories to feel more important."
"My family isn't difficult."
"I didn't say it was."
"You said people from difficult families make things up. My parents are married. My dad travels for work, and my mom works at a hospital. They love me."