“You okay, Lucas?” she asked, her hand resting briefly on my shoulder.
“I’m fine, Mom,” I said, looking down at my sneakers. “I told you truth didn’t need decorations.”
She smiled faintly, though her eyes still carried the hard edge of a pilot who had just defended more than just a flight record. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
Part 3: The Faculty Meeting and the Fallout
Inside Principal Harris’s office, the air felt like a decompression chamber.
Mr. Reynolds sat on the edge of a chair, his fingers drumming a nervous rhythm against his knee. Principal Harris stood by the window, while a printed copy of the mission commendation lay flat on her desk like an indictment.
“Ten years, Thomas,” Principal Harris said, her voice dangerously quiet. “Ten years you’ve taught here, and you couldn’t tell the difference between a student sharing a genuine family sacrifice and a target for your own cynicism.”
