I drove to the school with my hands shaking on the wheel. Mrs. Pruitt met me at the office door, her face pale, and led me past the secretary without a word. Gordon Sutter sat in the small chair beside her desk, his cap crushed in his fist, the same man who had emptied buckets onto my gravel. He did not look smug anymore. He looked like he had not slept.

He stood up slowly. “Tara, I came here to tell you something,” he said, his voice cracking. Mrs. Pruitt covered her mouth. “One of the children whose lunch balance you paid is named Hannah,” he whispered. “She is my granddaughter, and I never knew she was eating cheese sandwiches.” Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded paper with my name on it.