Ahmir
By the time I pulled into the parking lot at Woodcrest Academy, the sky was clearer than it had any right to be. Kids’ artwork lined the front windows. A banner hung above the entrance: FALL SHOWCASE NEXT WEEK! The whole place looked like safety.
I walked in without checking in — tailored suit, measured stride, the kind of presence people assume already belongs. The woman at the front desk rose halfway out of her seat before recognition hit her.
“Mr. Wolfe?” she said, relief slipping into her voice. “Thank you for coming—”
“Principal’s office?” I asked.
“She’s waiting,” the woman replied quickly, gesturing down the hall. “She said she’d brief you before… before you speak with him.”
Before him. Interesting. The principal — a woman in her late forties with kind eyes and worry dr
