“I mean it,” we heard Polly say. “Don’t call me.”

“I mean it,” Juliette said. “Don’t call me.” She did an air fist bump, then shook her finger at an imaginary caller.

“I mean it,” the other kids said one after another. “Don’t call me.” They did air fist bumps, shook their stubby fingers.

And of course, that’s the fist bump that stuck. I jumped up and began redirecting the kids, herding them off to puzzles and letter tracing and counting games and the water table. But they were still punching their fists in the air, shaking their fingers and saying, “I mean it. Don’t call me.”

Polly came out of the storage area. She stood there for a moment watching, her freckles jumping out as the color drained from her cheeks.

I made peace signs with both hands, our classroom signal to stop talking, stop everything.

The kids froze, made peace signs, too.

Polly ran from the room, blocking her face from our students so they wouldn’t see her tears.

One of the last of the fall leaves twirled and fluttered as it fell to the ground. The sky was getting darker and the air colder at this hour every day. No snow yet, but it was hovering just out of reach, ready to pounce. I rubbed my hands together to warm them up. I wrapped the ancient orangey-brown suede jacket with the long suede fringe I’d found in the front closet a little tighter. Wondered if I could hold out a little longer before I broke down and started searching through the mountain of boxes for my winter coats.

“Why don’t you take off,” I said. Our final student had been picked up, and Polly and I were alone on the dismissal bench. “Ethan and I had a pre-meeting yesterday before the official committee meeting today. I think we’re in good shape, and I can always fill you in at home on anything you miss.”

Polly forced a smile. “Thanks, but I’m really looking forward to the meeting.”

“Okay,” I said. “Then how about you be the co-chair, and I’ll go crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head.”

Polly laughed, but we both knew that was fake, too.

“I don’t mean to pry,” I said, “but let me know if you need to talk or anything.” The truth was that a part of me was dying to know what was going on. Another part of me really didn’t want to think about the fact that the person on the other end of that phone call might be related to me.