I asked at the table during our evening meal. I had just explained to Mom what had happened to Caleb. “I mean, it was like Mr. Riggins thought he owned Caleb. If anyone else had dragged Caleb away like that, it would have looked like kidnapping.” Dad pushed his food—some kind of casserole—around on his plate. Because my parents both work, Mom insists that Leontine and I each make dinner once a week. It was Leontine’s turn to torture us, and everyone, including Mom, was too afraid to ask about what we were eating. “Well,” Dad said, “it did look unfair. But there might be a lot you don’t know about the situation. I think it’s wrong to judge. For all you know, Caleb lied to you about why he was grounded. And it looked to me like Caleb had disobeyed by going to the soccer game. He wore old sweats to hide his uniform and rode to the field on his bike instead of getting a lift. You know his dad always drives him to games.” “But legally, can’t Caleb do something?” I mushed my food, trying to make it into smaller pieces that I could hide under a piece of bread.
