Pierce sat at his desk with his laptop open, shoulders squared, posture careful. A Zoom class filled the screen, the professor’s face framed by bookshelves and enthusiasm.
“…as we move into the next module,” the professor said.
Just outside the camera’s view, his parents hovered.
His mother leaned in and adjusted the angle of the webcam, fingers precise, practiced. “That’s better,” she said. “We want them to see your face.”
She stepped back, but not far. The door remained open.
Pierce nodded once.
The professor continued, unaware. “You’ll submit responses by Friday.”
Pierce stared at the screen without listening. The words washed over him, sound without meaning.
In the hallway, his father crouched near the wi-fi router, checking the blinking lights. “The internet’s stable.”
There
