“Main thing is to keep him hydrated,” the nurse says. “Lots and lots of water. He emptied himself out and hasn’t been able to keep much down since. Got to be starving, so some soup would do him good. Ibuprofen for the fever, too. He’s burning up.”

“I’m cold, Pa.”

“Think you could give us some, save us a trip to the pharmacy?” Henry says, tucking the blanket tighter around the boy. “You got my permission, right here and now.”

The nurse tenses.

“Nope,” the principal says.

“Hey, but. Please? Just look at the kid. Help us out here.”

“School policy.”

The nurse looks from Junior to Henry. With her back to the principal, she mouths I’m sorry.

“School policy?” Henry yells. “Look at my son. He’s fucking dying here.”

“You’re going to need to calm down.” The forearms flex. “Now that you, the child’s legal guardian, are in custody of the student, his well-being is entirely your responsibility. We can’t be held liable for any medical complications if—”

“Fuck this.”

Henry lifts the boy over his shoulder, freeing a hand to rifle through the cabinets. Boxes of bandages, rolls of gauze, and a jar of cotton swabs come tumbling out, but before he can locate any pills, the principal reaches under Henry’s free arm and crushes him into a half nelson. Henry totters and leans into the hold, struggling to keep Junior from falling.

“Get the fuck off of me, you—”

The principal squeezes a yelp out of Henry and tells Dottie to call the police,

“Fine, yeah, no. It’s fine. Everything’s cool, I’m sorry. Just please, please let me go.”

Henry submits. Goes limp. When the hold loosens, he wriggles free and collapses to the floor. Somehow he’s cushioned Junior from the fall. He refastens his arms around the boy, peers up from the ground.

“I’m sorry, sir. Worried about my kid is all, you know how it is. You get crazy, right? But, please. No need to get the cops involved.”

The principal’s stance is wide.

“Don’t make me beg, okay?”

A heel lifts, a grappler toeing the line, eager for the whistle. “Dottie?”

“I’m begging you.”

The telephone clacks onto the cradle. Dottie flashes the principal a silent plea.

“Enough,” the principal says, broad chest heaving. “About time you got your child back home. Where he should’ve been hours ago. Where the rest of us who’ve been waiting for you to turn up would like to head as well. What do you say?”