Theo

The school called at eleven forty in the morning, while Lina was asleep after a night shift. Her phone was on silent, as it always was until two in the afternoon. She found the voicemail at two fifteen, and by two twenty she was in the car.

Theo was sitting on a bench outside the vice-principal's office, with an ice pack on his knuckles and a small piece of tissue in his left nostril. He looked up when she came in, and his face did the thing it had done since he was a baby when he knew he was in trouble: it became very still and very proud at the same time.

"Mom," he said. "I can explain."

"You will," said Lina. "Later."

The vice-principal, Ms. Sandhu, was a calm woman of about fifty with a cardigan and a lanyard covered in pins from school events. She explained in five minutes, kindly and clearly. There had been an altercation in the lunchroom. Theo had pushed another student, a boy called Dylan, into a table. Dylan had fallen and hurt his elbow, not seriously. Theo had a bleeding nose because Dylan had hit him back. The school's policy on physical violence was clear: a one-day suspension for both students. Theo would stay home tomorrow. She was sorry.

"Did he say why?" asked Lina.

"He said Dylan and another boy took a new student's lunch and threw it in the garbage," said Ms. Sandhu. "We're looking into that. But even if it's true, pushing is not the answer. I'm sure you understand."

Lina understood. She was also so angry, at Theo, at Dylan, at the whole lunchroom, at the universe, that she couldn't trust her voice. She said, "Thank you, I understand," took Theo by the sleeve, and walked out.