He couldn’t tell me what happened. He just kept saying “cafeteria” and “Mr. Dale.” Mr. Dale is the principal.
I called the school. The secretary said Mr. Dale was in meetings. I called again at 3:30. She said he’d left for the day.
So I went to the one place I knew someone would answer. My brother rides with a group out of Marysville that does escorts for bullied kids. I told him what Owen said. I told him I didn’t want a scene. I just wanted somebody there when I walked in.
He said, “How many you want?”
I said, “I don’t know. A few?”
Forty showed up. Vests, boots, the whole thing. They didn’t rev. They didn’t block anything. They just parked in a line and stood next to their bikes with their hands in their pockets like they were waiting for a bus.
Every parent in the drop-off line slowed down to stare. Two teachers came out on the steps and went right back in.
Owen held my hand and looked at the row of chrome and for the first time in three days he smiled.
