Kowalski appears flustered, which is a new look for her. She has a standard repertoire of facial expressions—exhausted, bemused, incensed—but she rarely looks flustered. “Kevin, I’d like a word with you. In private.” The class looks up in unison, stares at her momentarily, then shifts its attention to me. I feel a dozen pairs of eyes boring into me as I climb out of my chair and follow her into the corridor. Ominously, she closes the door to give us some privacy. “Kevin, I just want you to know that I haven’t said a word to your mother about your connection to the Graduation Rituals.” “Okay.” “I know you’re aware that I don’t approve of them, and I’m disappointed that you of all students would be involved. But I’ve made it a point not to come between you and your mother.” “Okay.” “Okay.
