That night, Naomi sat with Isaiah at the kitchen table and laid out the choices without the adult varnish. Stay and fight publicly. Accept the deal and try to rebuild quietly. Transfer to Northside, where the band director was a woman named Ms. Camille Ortiz who had already emailed, unprompted, to say Isaiah would be welcome if he ever wanted a chair.
Isaiah traced a circle on the table with his finger. "If I take the deal, does that mean what he did was okay?"
"No," Naomi said. "It means they paid to make the paperwork quieter."
"If I fight, do I have to talk to more people?"
"Probably."
He was quiet a long time. The refrigerator hummed. Outside, a neighbor's dog barked at nothing.