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.

“Before anybody votes,” I said, “I’d like to share some scientific evidence.”

Celeste’s smile didn’t move. “Mrs. Carver, I understand you’re upset. This isn’t the place —”

“It’s a public meeting,” Principal Whitfield said from the side of the room. He’d been standing by the bleachers with his arms crossed. “She has the floor.”

I walked to the front. I asked Milo if it was okay. He nodded. I opened the green notebook and read the Friday page out loud.

10:40 a.m. A grown-up was at the cubbies. She opened MY backpack. She put an envelope in it. She zipped it. She did not see me.

The gym was so quiet I could hear the old clock ticking above the scoreboard.

I held up the page so everyone could see the little drawing of the hummingbird.

Then I read the last line. The lady has a bird pin. She is a grown-up. Brayden said nobody believes kids.