I sigh. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you know things.”
“I do know things.”
“You’re ten.”
“I knowten yearsof things.”
I have to turn away so she doesn’t see my smile and think she won this round.
“Come on,” I say. “We’re late. And since they haven’t decided whether to suspend you, we don’t want to risk drawing more attention. So please try not to start any more fights.”
“I make no promises, Mama,” she says, her chin held high. “If stupid-face Eric says more mean things to my friends, then I’ll have no other choice but to protect them.”
“You do have other choices.”
“Maybe boring ones.”
“Livy.”
“What?” She lifts her hands like this is all perfectly reasonable. “I run a sanctuary after all. I was made to protect things.”
My heart trips.
Not because she’s being dramatic but because she means every word.
I crouch in front of her and straighten the strap of her backpack. “Baby, protecting people is good. It’s important. But you can’t protect someone by putting yourself in the line of fire. Who will be there to protect the next person?”
Her chin wobbles just a little. “Sabrina was crying.”
“I know.”
“He spit on her.”
“I know, honey.”
“She looked scared.”
“I know,” I whisper.
Livy’s eyes search mine. “So what was I supposed to do?”
There it is. The question I still don’t know how to answer.
Because the mother in me wants to say, find a teacher. Use your words. Walk away.
But the woman in me knows exactly why she shoved that boy.
I take her small face in my hands. “You did the right thing by standing up for Sabrina. But next time, I need you to get an adult first if you can.”
“And if I can’t?”
I smooth my thumbs over her cheeks.
“The only reason you wouldn’t be able to get an adult is if you or someone else is in immediate danger,” I say, hating the thought alone. “If that happens, you use that very smart country-girl brain of yours. You stop for one second. You look around. You think fast. Then you make the safest choice you can.”
