Everybody had an answer.
Almost nobody had mercy.
That afternoon, when I dropped Kinsley off, her father was standing in the driveway.
He was not smiling.
Kinsley stepped off the bus slowly.
Her phone was not in her hand.
It was in Aaron’s.
He had taken it.
She looked humiliated.
I could see tear tracks on her face.
Aaron looked at me and gave a tight nod.
I nodded back.
Then Kinsley turned around.
For one second, I thought she might thank me.
Instead, she looked at me with red, furious eyes and said, “You ruined my life.”
Then she walked into the house and slammed the door.
I sat there gripping the steering wheel.
The other kids were silent.
Then a boy in the third row whispered, “Dang.”
I looked in the mirror.
“Language.”
He sank into his seat.
But I couldn’t even blame him.
Because at fourteen, losing your phone can feel like losing your whole world.
