Last week, he brought home a D in math.
That had never happened before.
So I scheduled a meeting with his new teacher, Ms. Carter.
She was in her early thirties, poised but understated, with a voice so calm it seemed to settle the air around her. She wore a slate-blue blouse with small pearl buttons. Her dark hair was twisted into a low, practical bun, as if she preferred not to draw attention to herself.
We sat across from each other in her classroom, surrounded by posters about algebraic thinking and growth mindset slogans in bright block letters. Sunlight filtered through half-closed blinds and striped the whiteboard.
“Logan is very bright, Harper,” she said gently. “He understands the material when I speak with him one-on-one. But he seems elsewhere, like only half of him is in the room.”
I folded my hands in my lap. “There’s been a lot of change at home. His father and I separated in the fall.”
Her expression softened. “That can be difficult for a child, even if the separation is amicable.”
