“Excuse me?” The way a rattlesnake shakes its tail as a warning, Moms’s “excuse me?” alerts everyone that she’s about to bite.

“Moms caught you slipping,” I say with a wide grin.

“Believe me, I know you hear it from your mother.” Mr. Blackmon remains focused on me; his smooth delivery doesn’t waver. “If any of us thinks otherwise, she’s quick to let us know.”

Moms straightens in her seat. “Dignity and pride. I teach my boy to walk upright, with his back straight. There’s none of that sagging pants nonsense around the house. He doesn’t let anyone strip him of his dignity. Not the school. Not his friends. Not the neighborhood. And not himself.”

I shrink in my seat. I don’t need to actually be here. It’s embarrassing. Their expectations are a lot to live up to. I want to tell them that I’m not trying to get kicked out of school. That I especially want no part of being transferred to Banesford Accelerated Academy. That I dream—when I let myself dare to dream—of doing something . . . smart in life. Like be a scientist, to figure out how things work. Maybe be like one of those detective scientists on television who solve crimes. That would be so lit. No one would see me coming.

But most times those kinds of dreams seem like they’re the future for someone else. I hear the voice of Mrs. Horner making fun of me. Kids like me don’t become scientists. That’s not even worth dreaming about. I’m a screwup. I’m going to let them down. Those voices may be right, but . . . I don’t know. I’m not ready to give up on it just yet.

“So it’s with that in mind, a student came forward to say that she heard you brought the gun to school.”

Marcel. No, not her. I mean, I know that she’s behind it, but she would’ve put someone else up to it. Not Kutter, because Mr. Blackmon said “she,” and besides, no one would believe him. Someone more low-key. Brionna, maybe. “That’s the rumor. It’s what Mrs. Fitzgerald all but accused me of from the jump.”

“Did you call us in here to ambush us with accusations?” Moms is about too through with this conversation.

“The opposite, actually. We’re still looking into things, doing a thorough investigation. No one’s going to move on rumor. I wanted to give Thelonius an opportunity to tell his side.”

“Look, Mr. Blackmon.” I meet his eyes, then Moms’s. “I’m a little extra. I get that. But this is next level. I didn’t do this. There’s a lot going on in the school, things I’m still learning about. But this situation, it isn’t on me.”

“You know I believe you, T. You know better than to have me out here looking foolish defending you if you did it. That said, I got you,” Moms said.

“You’re a good talker, Thelonius. I knew I needed to hear you say that. But you need to know that if you are all talk and no action, then all you are is empty air. And I know there’s more to you than that. I want you to step up some more. Take on more responsibility. Get you to fight for what you believe in, and, should that flame get lit, fan it to make sure you keep fighting. You have so much potential and could be a powerful leader wherever you go.” Mr. Blackmon reaches for his water bottle to allow time for his words to settle in before continuing. Even he has to realize he’s just laid it on pretty thick. He turns toward Moms. “It takes a lot of voices speaking into a child’s life, fighting for them, in order for them to turn out okay. And, Mrs. Mitchell, I wanted you to know that I’m on your team. However I can support you, I’m here.”