“No!” I feel hot all over, remembering how Dad just sat there. Let the whole meeting happen around him and signed off on whatever they wanted. Mom would have gone feral.

“What now?” Ale asks, running a soft brush gently along the edge of the frame.

“Not sure.” I try to ignore the three bees marching over my veil—about two inches from my face. “Usual hoops, I guess. Maybe have to see the PT to prove I can get around school fine. Ms. Hernandez wants me to go back on special ed services.”

“Didn’t you finish all that like three years ago?” Ale frowns.

“Yeah. And the school hasn’t even been able to find a full-time PT in over a year.” I make a fist, then remember the frame full of pointy-ended insects I’m holding. “Fish even said something about an aide.” That part, at least, I’m not quite as worried about. I know most of the aides at school already, and they stay super busy with the kids who do need extra help during the day. That should work in my favor until I can figure a way out of this mess.

Like my mom always used to say, Strong voice, calm voice. That’s how you get folks to listen. Charm and speed have always been more my thing, but I may have to pull out some of Mom’s tools, too. Then I giggle, remembering how often Mom’s “calm voice” would boil over into something pretty fiery.

“I bet you could talk to your dad.” Ale bends over the frame with the magnifying glass again. “He’s not exactly the original rule follower, is he?”

It’s true. My dad was never big on silly rules, which makes all this more frustrating.

“There she is!” Ale says suddenly. “Her Royal Highness.” I follow her pointing finger to the queen bee, bigger than the rest, with a cluster of other bees surrounding her like flower petals. I admit I don’t always pay close attention when Ale goes on about her bees, but I know the queen is the boss of the whole hive.

Wish I was a queen bee. Then everyone would have to listen to me.

By Monday morning, I’m almost glad to get back to school. The silence around our place has been thick as pluff mud. Dad took off for the shop the second we got home and hasn’t stopped moving since. I spent most of Saturday at Ale’s and Sunday perfecting one-word answers. Not that Dad said much that needed answering.

Dad has to be at work early today, so he drops me at school thirty minutes early. I don’t mind a bit. I still feel hot as a teakettle about to whistle.

“We’ll work this out, Emmie.” Dad puts my lunch in my lap and tries not to yawn. “Things’ll let up a bit after this week, and then let’s talk.”

He’s got dark circles under his eyes again, but I remind myself he’s a traitor, and traitors get no sympathy. “Whatever,” I tell him. “Late night tonight?”