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.

After I hung up, I went to Milo’s room to tuck him in. His blue backpack sat on his desk where we’d left it on Friday. The police had taken everything else, but they’d given back his lunch box and his pencil case.

And his Field Notes.

I picked up the green notebook with the stegosaurus sticker. I hadn’t looked inside it since school started. It had always felt private, like reading a diary.

Milo was asleep. I sat on the floor beside his bed and opened it to the first page of the week.

Monday. 8:10 a.m. School smells like crayons and floor soap. Pickles the guinea pig ate a carrot in 4 minutes.

Tuesday. 12:05 p.m. Felix sat with me. Felix is wrong about the Ankylosaurus.

Wednesday. 12:10 p.m. Brayden asked me to sit with them. Raptor Club. 12:24 p.m. Brayden gave me an egg. It is a sock. It is heavy. Do not open. Put it in bottom pocket.