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Sandra was halfway home when Sammy fell asleep, so she just kept driving around in circles, waiting for her kids to get out of school. What a crazy day it had been. Her son was growing up. She was proud of him for standing up for the oppressed, for the downtrodden. She wasn’t so proud of him for pushing a kid to the ground, but she wasn’t exactly upset with him for that either. It sounded like the kid had it coming, and if Cameron’s mother was any indication of Cameron’s attitude, then she could understand perfectly why Peter had thought a good shove was appropriate. But she fervently hoped that the coach wouldn’t make him ride the bench today. That wouldn’t be fair, and Peter would take it hard.
Finally, she pulled her van into the front of what would soon be a long line of cars waiting for that final bell. As soon as her car stopped moving, Sammy opened his eyes, his mouth, and his lungs. Sandra took a deep breath, said, “We’re just going to sit here for a minute, punkin, and then we’ll get back on the road,” and then turned her Casting Crowns CD up louder. Sammy loved Casting Crowns, and usually didn’t cry when the pianist—Sandra thought her name was Megan—sang. They really should let her sing more often. She skipped ahead a few songs to one where Megan took the vocals, and sure enough, Sammy stopped screaming.
The bell rang, and kids spilled out of the front doors. Joanna was near the front, and Sandra’s heart swelled at the sight of her sweet daughter. It had only been a few hours, but she’d missed her. Joanna ran for the car, her thin coat flapping out behind her. Peter came along shortly after, moving with much less enthusiasm. Sandra couldn’t blame him.
The side door slid open, and Joanna started chattering as she dove for the middle seat. Sandra didn’t really hear her; she was looking at Peter, who, sans expression, got into the front seat and immediately turned the music down. Sammy started screaming. She reached over and put a hand on her son’s leg. “I love you.”
“Love you too,” he said without looking at her.
She started the engine and pulled out into the stream of minivans and SUVs heading away from the school. “Honey,” she said, trying to tread carefully, knowing Peter would clam up if he felt she was nosing into his feelings, “when you said adults don’t care about bullying, I just want you to know that I care.” She sneaked a look at him. “You know that, right?”
He moved his head up and down, but it wasn’t a convincing nod.
What did that mean? She considered her words carefully. “You say you know that, but it seems like you don’t know that.”
He sighed, his eyes trying to bore two holes through the windshield. “Can we just drop it, Mom?”
Her neck got hot. “No, we cannot drop it. How can you think I don’t care about bullying? Have you even met me?”
He finally looked at her and then glanced toward the backseat. “Can we not talk about it now?”
She turned some knobs and put Casting Crowns into the rear speakers. Then she cranked the volume.
Peter rolled his eyes. “She can still hear us.”
Sandra looked in the rearview mirror and asked, “Anyone want ice cream?” Joanna didn’t blink. “She can’t hear us. Talk.”
He sighed again. “I know you care, Mom. You care about everything.” He managed to make this sound like a bad thing. “But you’re also so busy that sometimes you don’t know the bullying is going on.”
What? “How could I know, Peter, if you don’t tell me? I don’t follow you around at school all day.” She’d thought about doing that several times since that first day she’d dropped him off five years ago, but she’d managed to restrain herself.
“I’m not talking about school,” he said so quietly that she wondered if she’d heard him wrong.
She paused, knowing that if she asked him to repeat himself, he would be beyond annoyed. “Then what are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Just forget about it.”
She pulled the van into the parking lot of a lingerie boutique. Peter’s eyes widened in panic.
“What are we doing at a fancy underwear store?” Joanna piped up.
Sandra ignored her and turned to face her son. “I’m not going to forget about it. Just tell me what’s going on and then this conversation can be over and you can stop feeling so uncomfortable.”
“Yeah, right.” His sarcasm was thicker than her sister-in-law’s makeup.
She didn’t flinch. She just kept staring at him. Sammy started screaming again. Sandra turned the music up.
“It’s too loud!” Joanna cried.
She could see Peter’s resolve weakening. She would never allow one of her children to be more stubborn than she was, and Peter knew it.
“Church, okay? I’m talking about church.”
She recoiled. “What? Someone’s being bullied at church?” That was the last place she’d worry about.
“Not someone,” he muttered.
Oh no. A vision of him hiding in the nursery flashed through her mind. “Someone at church is picking on you—”
“Don’t say ‘picking on.’ It makes me sound like I’m five.”
“Okay, so what’s going on?”
“People are jerks, and I’m not naming names, so don’t try to make me.”
“Peter James, you tell me right now. Unless you want to sit right here in this exact spot through your game and then through supper and then through the night—”
“Ethan and Jack,” he spat out. “And more. Everyone follows them.” He finally looked her in the eye. “It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing we can do about it. They won’t stop. Now, can we please just go home?”
She gazed at him for nearly a minute, weighing her options. Her first choice was to drive to each of their houses, invite them outside, and then thump them on the head repeatedly, but she thought this might be ineffective and get her thrown in the clink. Peter was obviously done talking. She needed to talk to Nate. He’d know what to do. “Of course, honey, we can go home. Thank you for telling me. And we will do something about it. Church is supposed to be a safe place.”
“Yeah, right,” he said again.