“Welcome,” I said. “The coffee is fresh.”
“We aren’t here for coffee, Sam,” Brenda snapped. She held up a printed screenshot of the book page. “We’re here for this. Page 144. It describes a panic attack. It talks about wanting to end it all. Why are you exposing my son to this darkness?”
The phones zoomed in on my face. The room went silent.
“You’re right,” I said softly.
The crowd blinked. They expected a fight. They expected a lecture on the First Amendment.
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