EIGHT
My principal left me a voicemail, hurried and rash, checking in with me that Zoe’s all right. I call her back, assuring Principal Georgia Masters that everything’s all right. I can’t imagine juggling the lives of twenty different staff members and the lives of four hundred kids, ranging from kindergarten to the sixth grade.
Seriously, my throat floods with bile as Georgia tells me all the scenarios of where it could go wrong but assures me that we have permission and to watch the kid like a hawk.
It’s not long until Zoe abandons the idea of a nap and heads into the living room with me, grabbing the box of crackers off the kitchen counter and munching away, handful after handful.
I have to advise the poor kid to slow down and reassure her that I’m not going to take the box away fr
