We pulled up to the curb outside my apartment building, the brick looking damp and red in the fading light.

“Thank you, Renee,” I said as we got out.

“Call me if you need anything, Claire,” Renee said. “The hearing resumes tomorrow morning.”

“I will,” I said.

Nolan and I walked up the concrete steps to our second-floor apartment.

My mother, Martha, was waiting inside, the smell of warm chicken broth filling the small living room.

“How did it go?” she asked, her face lined with worry.

“The school spoke to Renee,” I said. “It went well.”

“Thank God,” she whispered, her hands clasped together.

“Nolan, go wash your hands for dinner,” I said gently.

He ran down the short hallway to the bathroom, his sneakers squeaking on the linoleum.

I turned to my mother, my voice dropping to a whisper.

“Where is the blue shirt?” I asked.

“The one Mrs. Latham returned?” she asked. “It’s in the laundry basket.”

I hurried to the small utility closet near the kitchen.

I pulled out the faded blue button-down shirt.

It was worn at the collar, the fabric soft from too many washes.