The moment I reach the bottom of the Bartleys’ porch steps, I bolt. I want to punch, smash something, anything to release the emotions I’ve felt since we sat at their dining room table.

Mr. Bartley wants our trust. He promised to do his best. But the debate is still on. I’d promised Nana I’d do everything I could to stop the debate.

It wasn’t enough.

One block, then two. Logan catches up. I don’t stop. I run and run and continue running along the tree-lined path through snow-covered Sunrise Park. I reach the center fountain and stop. I leap onto the wide marble lip, tilt my head back, and scream, “Ahhhhhhh!”

Logan’s right beside me, and just like the other night, she opens her arms wide.

This time, Logan’s the one crying.

She says, “I want to be done with this! I want to be done with him! Mr. Bartley said he was concerned for us? How did he show it? By ignoring us? Humiliating us? Not once over the past week has he expressed any kind of compassion or sympathy for the personal attacks we’ve endured, at least not until I said it to him first! He used Principal McNeil as an excuse, saying he wasn’t allowed to talk to us? What about decent human courtesy? It’s inexcusable. I don’t trust him. He doesn’t deserve our trust! He wants us to come to class. What are we going to do?”

I take Logan’s hand, brush the pad of my thumb over her knuckles. The question lingers in her conflicted eyes. I give her the only answer I have. “I wish I knew. Let’s just wait and see how we feel about all of this on Monday. Last minute. That’s when we’ll decide.”