After years of learning at home, my 10-year-old son, who has Down syndrome, was finally given the chance to go to a regular school. He was happier than I’d seen him in years. But just five days after he started, I got a phone call from the principal that left me shaken.

He chewed his thumbnail for a long time.

“It’s called the Raptor Club,” he whispered. “The big kids. Brayden’s the leader. He said raptors guard their eggs. And members have to guard the club’s eggs, and never, ever tell.” He pulled the blanket up to his chin. “On Wednesday, he gave me an egg. It was a sock with something hard in it. He said put it in the bottom of my backpack and don’t open it. Then on Thursday, he gave me another one.”

“Did you know there were phones inside?”

He shook his head. Then he nodded. Then he started to cry.

“I felt it, Mom. On the bus. I felt it was a phone. And I knew it was wrong. But Brayden said if I told, the police would take Felix away. Because Felix was sitting with us. So it was Felix’s secret too.”

“Oh, baby.”

“I didn’t take the money,” he said fiercely. “I didn’t. I didn’t even know about the money.”