“Good morning, class,” says Mrs. Fitzgerald.

“Good morning, Mrs. Fitzgerald,” we say in unison.

“We have a serious problem and I thought it was important that we discuss it.” Mrs. Fitzgerald studies each of our faces with something barely softer than a glare.

No one dares roll his eyes. No one dares cross his arms. No one dares chance a grin. Not even the boldest among us—and I do mean Nehemiah—feels safe enough to do anything more than sit there, hands in laps, paying wide-eyed attention.

“Yesterday, next door at Northwestway Park, some young people found something. Does anyone know what?” Mrs. Fitzgerald walks around her desk like a lawyer in a courtroom giving an opening statement. (Moms has a thing for crime shows.)

Mrs. Fitzgerald’s words hang in the air. All we can do is shake our heads, but without too much enthusiasm. It was like the group of us inched across a frozen lake, not knowing if or when we’d find a thin spot in the ice and go crashing through.

“A grocery bag wadded into a ball. It was heavy so they unwrapped it.” Mrs. Fitzgerald pauses, probably for effect. She knows how to put on a show and right now she has all our silent attention. “Inside was a gun.”

“Ooh,” everyone says.

Well, almost everyone. I lean back in my seat and cross my arms. I’ve seen this movie play out many times before. Something goes missing? Must be one of us. Something gets broken? Must be one of us. I know where this story is headed because the last time they “investigated” something, Twon wound up blamed anyway and suspended. And he wasn’t even around.

“Being responsible and cautious, they called over a couple of our custodians who were doing their jobs. Taking care of the building and keeping Persons clean and secure. We know that the park is a popular hangout for all of you. So I wanted to impress on you that this is a very grave matter.” When Mrs. Fitzgerald is on a roll, she can give the best preacher a run for their money. “We turned the gun over to the police. This was too close to our school. We strive to maintain a safe environment here at Persons. We want you to be safe. We want our staff to be safe. We want our visitors to be safe. There isn’t any reason to bring a weapon near this building. Not to impress anyone. Not to scare anyone. Not to threaten anyone. It won’t be tolerated.”

After a few heartbeats, I speak up. “And you think one of us brought it.”

Everyone else stares at me with their mouths hanging open, gawking like I’d grown a third arm out of my back.

“When something goes wrong, you just bring in the usual suspects,” I finish.

They turn their attention slowly back to Mrs. Fitzgerald and hold their breath, waiting to see just how much of my head she was about to shred.