Chapter 8: Pickup Line

Dismissal at Kellner Elementary runs on a whistle, a yellow vest and forty-one cars that all think they're first.

I stood on the front walk on Tuesday at 3:20 with my class lined up behind me in pairs.

The parents were already along the curb, in their trucks and minivans, with the windows down.

I saw the silver Equinox turn into the loop.

I knew who it was before the door opened.

Brandon got out with a white bakery box tied with blue ribbon.

He walked straight up the sidewalk.

"Miss Kruse!" a boy in the front of the line shouted. "It's Mr. Meyer! He did the bike safety talk!"

"Line, please," I said.

"Han." Brandon spread his free arm.

Three mothers on the curb turned their heads in the same direction.

"I brought cupcakes for the whole class," he said, loud enough to carry. "I know it's been a hard week. I just wanted you to know I forgive you."

Someone in the line of cars said, "Aww."

I looked at the box.

The cupcakes inside were frosted blue.

"Mr. Meyer," I said. "Visitors check in at the office."

"I'm family."

"You're a visitor."

"Han." He lowered his voice and made it warm and tragic. "I'm not angry at you or Maddie. I'd just like us to be able to talk."

"Then call my phone, and I'll tell you to stop calling."

A man in a feed cap laughed behind his hand.

Brandon smiled at him.

"Boys," I said. "Take your partner's hand."

"Are you still getting married to Mr. Meyer?" asked a small girl at the back of the line.

Every adult on the curb went silent.

I crouched to her height.