“I’m not naive, Dad. But I didn’t expect us to find swastikas plastered all over our lockers or have Mr. Lane deliver a nasty lecture.” Was Mr. Lane right? Did we destroy our school’s reputation? Was there something else we should have done? These are the questions swimming around in my head.

He hasn’t said anything and I really, really need him to respond. I look up at him. He seems lost in thought. I mumble, “Well, that’s it.”

Dad loosens his tie, unbuttons the top button of his oxford. “Mr. Lane said he expected better from you?”

I nod.

“Well, I expect better, too.” He sees my shock, then quickly adds, “From him. Not you. I’m so proud of you! Don’t ever doubt that. You can’t let Mr. Lane knock you down or cloud your judgment. Who does he think he is? You’ve done everything you could to be reasonable and respectful, and when you needed guidance, you sought out expert advice and followed it to a tee. Right now, the only thing that could disappoint me would be if you backed away from this challenge. Don’t let this other nonsense distract you and Cade from the task at hand.”

As agonizing as this experience has been, it feels so good to have my dad. I smile.

“How come you’re smiling?”

“ ’Cause you’re right. And because you’re my dad.”

“Whew. That’s a relief.” He mock-wipes his brow. “This parenting gig isn’t so easy, you know.”

My smile turns into a laugh. “You’ve done good.”

“Thanks. Do you want me to call Mr. Lane? Because I will. I’d love to give him a big piece of my mind and tell him where to shove his self-righteous expectations.”

I shake my head. “Probably not a good idea.”

“Probably not. I doubt he has any sense to listen to me anyway. You need to get in touch with the woman at HPJ. Tell her what happened today. You need her professional advice.”

“Thanks, Dad. What I really need is pizza. White sauce, garlic, and cheese. And Cajun fries. This day needs fries, too.”

“You make the call to HPJ. I’ll order the food and we’ll eat it at home.”

Chapter 41: Cade

Grandpa and Nana—Jewish. Mom’s Jewish? I’m Jewish? How can we be Jewish?

Dad isn’t Jewish, but I am. What does that even mean?

Looking around, I suddenly feel like I don’t belong—my bed, my clothes, everything feels like it belongs to someone else.