I don’t remember the drive.
All I remember is gripping the steering wheel and imagining every possible scenario. None of them were good.
When I arrived, the receptionist stood up quickly.
“Come with me.”
We moved quickly down the hallway, past classrooms and teachers who paused to look at me, until we reached the gym.
“Go ahead,” she said softly, opening the door.
I stepped inside—and froze.
The entire gym was silent.
More than 300 children sat on the floor in rows, completely still.
For a moment, I couldn’t understand what I was seeing.
Then it hit me.
Every single one of them had duct tape wrapped around their shoes.
Some were messy. Some were neat. Some had drawings.
But all of them were taped—just like Andrew’s.
I searched the room until I found him.
He was sitting in the front row, looking down at his worn sneakers.
