My daughter secretly spent months saving to buy shoes for a boy in her class. The next day, the school called and told me Emma was involved in something that sounded serious. I rushed over, but when I opened the principal’s door and saw who was waiting for me there, my whole body went cold.
The call came during my lunch break at work.
“Good afternoon,” the principal said in a tense voice. “I need you to come to school as quickly as possible.”
“Is Emma okay?”
There was a pause.
“She’s not hurt,” he said. “But something has happened, and she’s involved.”
I had already grabbed my bag by then. My keys were in my hand. “I’m leaving now.”
“I need you to come to school as quickly as possible.”
As I rushed through traffic to reach the school, I kept trying to figure out what might have happened.
And my thoughts kept circling back to the previous morning, and what Emma had done for her friend, Caleb.
I had gone into Emma’s room and found her piggy bank shattered on the floor.
“Emma, what happened here?” I’d asked.
She’d looked up at me guiltily and said, “I needed the money.”
I found her piggy bank shattered on the floor.
“For what?”
“Mom, I saw Caleb covering the holes in his shoes with tape.”
