When Zach texted me from school saying, “Can you come get me? It’s serious,” I never imagined this.
He barely looked at me when he got in the car. Hands shaking. Hoodie half zipped like he’d rushed out of class. I tried to joke, ease the tension—asked if he’d failed a test or punched someone. He just said, “It’s not about me. It’s about h
er.”
