“Yes,” I said firmly. “Before you have time to talk yourself out of it. We’re going to walk into that office and hand them that legal pad.”
Entering the school felt different with both of us at her side.
We asked to see the counselor.
All three of us squeezed into the small office, and Emily laid everything out. The counselor — a woman with warm eyes and a tight, no-nonsense bun — listened carefully without cutting her off. When Emily finished, silence settled over the room.
“Leave this with me,” the counselor said. “This falls directly under our harassment policy. I am going to bring in the students involved today, and they will be facing disciplinary action. I’ll be calling their parents before the final bell rings.”
Emily jerked her head up. “Today?”
“Today,” the counselor confirmed. “You shouldn’t have to carry this for another minute, Emily. You did the right thing by coming in.”
As we headed back to the parking lot, Emily walked a few steps ahead. The tight curve in her shoulders had softened, and she was looking at the trees instead of the ground.
Mark paused beside the driver’s side of the old pickup and glanced at me over the roof. “I really should have called you. I’m sorry.”