If you had asked me what worried me most about my son, I wouldn’t have said his grades.
Tobin had always been one of those children teachers described as “a pleasure to have in class.” His report cards were nearly perfect; he finished books faster than I could buy them, and when something interested him, he could talk about it with a quiet excitement that made his whole face change.
But high school doesn’t always reward quiet boys.
Tobin wasn’t mistreated exactly. There were no cruel notes taped to his locker or dramatic fights in the hallway.
It was subtler than that.
He simply wasn’t noticed.
His classmates knew he was smart because they borrowed his notes before exams. They knew he was dependable because teachers paired struggling students with him during group projects. But once the bell rang, everyone returned to their own friends, their own tables, their own plans.
