“Aaaaaahh!” Logan’s scream turns into a moan. “I don’t know. We can’t let him intimidate us. We’re not wrong, are we?”

“Hell no.” I unzip my coat, but it doesn’t do much to relieve the pressure on my chest. I drop my head against the headrest. “We were sucker punched. And we can’t let Mr. Bartley and Principal McNeil blur the line with their compromise. I haven’t talked to my parents about it, but I can’t help but think my grandpa—”

“What?”

“Over and over again, I’ve asked myself what he would do in our shoes. Is offering the alternative assignment enough or would he push forward and stop the debate? I hear his voice in my head, and I know there’s only one answer.”

“What does he say?”

She’s not at all concerned about my sanity, and I love that. “ ‘When it comes to life, you can be in the audience and watch. You can be one of the actors in the spotlight or you can be the person who shines the spotlight on the stage. The trick is knowing what role to play and when.’ That’s it.”

“Are we the actors or the ones shining the spotlight?” Logan asks.

“Well, according to Grandpa, we need to be all three. If we’re going to stop this debate, we have to be all three.”

Chapter 21: Logan

“Dad?”

Silence.

“Dad?”

“Hmm?” He doesn’t look up from his book, absently taking bites of the baked ziti I made for dinner. I sit kitty-corner from him at our kitchen table and drag my fork through the tomato sauce, making figure eights on my plate. I press harder, and the high-pitched screee finally gets Dad’s attention.

His head snaps up. “Logan, that’s really annoying.”

“Sorry, but I need to talk with you.”

“Oh.” He shuts off his tablet, sets it aside. “Everything all right?”

I shake my head, and when his timid smile falls away, I clarify. “Everything’s okay. I mean, I’m okay, but something’s going on at school, and Cade and I aren’t sure what to do about it.”

At the mention of school, he relaxes a little, probably because anything academic is usually in his wheelhouse. But this? I doubt he’s run across anything like this in the math department.

Dad sips his water, sets his glass on the table. “What’s going on?”

I hand him copies of the assignment, the document we shared with Principal McNeil and Mr. Bartley, our notes from that meeting, and what’s transpired in Mr. Bartley’s class. He pages through while I explain in detail. When I finish, I ask, “Well, what do you think?”

He scrubs at his graying five-o’clock shadow. “You did the right thing. I’m proud of both of you.”