“You can wipe that smugness off your face,” she says without preamble.

“Why’re you so mad, Mrs. Fitzgerald?” All my charm lands like a raw egg thrown at a wall: it splatters, useless, and slides down leaving a mess.

Mrs. Fitzgerald bridges her fingers in front of her. “You kids are so darn clever, aren’t you? All of you think you’re smarter than us stupid grown-ups. That we have no clue what pressures you’re under, what problems you face. As if we’ve never been you or done all the nonsense you haven’t even thought of yet. You’re in seventh grade, Thelonius. You are twelve years old. You think that you have it all worked out.”

“Times are different.” Out of instinct, to lighten the mood, I almost make a joke about her age. Staring into her stony face, I decide to bite my tongue rather than risk riling her up any further.

“The more things change and all that.” She sighs. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Mrs. Fitzgerald unfurls her fingers. She slaps the desk like someone struck with a good idea. Startled, I jump. “There you go again, being the smartest person in the room. Your mind is always ten steps ahead of your behind. Now I know you know everything, but our job—mine, your teachers’, your mother’s—is to see the big picture.”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with me.”

“Here’s what I think: though he’s fully capable, I don’t think Mr. Neal brought the gun to school. I don’t think you did either. I do think Kutter has been a problem for a while.”

“He a straight-up bully.” The words leap out of my mouth, my heart eager for her to believe this.

“I’m stuck with the evidence and will have to think about his future here. I also think that you know more about what’s been going on than you’ve let on.”

“I ain’t a snitch.” I know there’s some truth to it. There’s a line I have to walk. I know Mrs. Fitzgerald and Mr. Blackmon. I like them. I think I even trust them. But they’re still—I don’t know—the system. I can’t trust the system to do right by us. They created the prison; we try to live by prison rules. We have to protect our own. Do right by the community. Me and Mrs. Fitzgerald lock in a chess match, but I hate the game. I’ve been told that I’d be good at it, but I never had the patience for it.

“I understand that. But you need to understand that no one in administration can do much unless we have help. Kids have to be willing to trust. To talk.” Mrs. Fitzgerald sighs again. Scooting out of her chair, she paces behind her desk. “So you do things your way. Let’s see how that’s worked out: Pierce hurt. Rodrigo and Twon in detention for fighting. Nehemiah in detention for disrupting class. Marquess expelled. And with all of that, do you think we’ve caught all those responsible?”