Naomi stood. She did not release Isaiah's shoulder.
"I want him seen by the nurse," she said. "I want a written incident report before I leave this building. And I want Mr. Briggs nowhere near my son while any of that happens."
Kellerman's smile was thin and professional. "Of course. Let's take this to my office. We can talk privately."
"Privately is how this started," Naomi said. "We talk with witnesses listed and a clock on the wall."
They went anyway, because schools are buildings designed to funnel conflict into rooms with closed doors. Isaiah sat in the nurse's office first, where Ms. Lorna Pike checked his neck and shoulder with careful fingers and wrote notes that would later be argued over like scripture. No broken skin. Tenderness. Elevated heart rate. The clarinet rested across Isaiah's lap like a second spine.
Naomi waited in the hallway and called her sister, Ruth, because Ruth answered on the first ring and did not ask stupid questions. Then she called the firm. She was due back at two for a mediation packet review. She told the paralegal coordinator she would not be back today. The coordinator, who had children of her own, said only, "Go."