His voice finally gave out.
He held up the final page of the green book.
"The last entry is dated January tenth."
"Fourteen days before he d*ed."
Millicent still held the microphone, but it hung at her side like a wet towel.
Her Birkin had slid down her arm and rested against her knee.
In the third row of the bleachers, two other board members sat very still in their evening clothes, staring at the floor.
Wendall Rosenthal put a hand on his wife's elbow.
"Millie," he said quietly. "Let's go."
She jerked away.
"I will not be spoken to like this in my own school."
"Then you should listen," Mr. Lombardi said.
He turned a page in the ledger.
"Because I haven't read the last name yet."
His finger stopped.
"S.R.," he read. "Seventh grade. Six dollars and fifty cents a day. Thirty-eight days."
Skylar's head snapped up.
