Liam Dalton did not want to be interviewed.

The twelve-year-old sat in the corner of guidance counselor Rebecca Ward’s office, staring sullenly at the motivational posters taped to the wall.

His backpack rested untouched between his feet, his jacket still zipped to his chin.

Across the room sat Assistant Principal Daniel Keene and district safety officer Frank Henderson.

"Liam," Keene said gently, keeping his voice neutral. "Nobody is accusing you of any wrongdoing. We just need to understand what happened at the back of Room 204 this morning."

Liam didn't answer.

He pulled his thumbs into the cuffs of his sleeves, twisting the fabric until his knuckles turned pale.

"Your mother told Noah that your assignment was none of his concern," Henderson said, leaning forward in his chair. "Did you finish the chapter questions from section four, Liam?"

Liam shook his head once, barely moving his chin.

"No," Liam whispered.

"Did your mother know you hadn't finished them?" Keene asked.

Liam looked up, his eyes suddenly dark and exhausted in a way that looked unnatural on a twelve-year-old boy.

"She did them for me last night," Liam said, his voice dropping into a flat, monotone rasp. "She printed the answers off her teacher portal at home, signed my initials, and put them in her grading pile before we left the house."

Keene and Henderson exchanged a startled, heavy look.

"She submitted your assignments herself?" Henderson asked.

"Always," Liam muttered, staring back down at the floor. "Whenever I fall behind, she just writes in my grade so her class average stays at ninety-two percent. She told me if my grades dropped, the other teachers would think she was incompetent."

Liam wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve, a sudden tremor breaking through his composure.

"Noah was sick, Mr. Keene," Liam choked out, tears finally breaking along his eyelashes. "He was really sick. I told her in the car this morning that Noah looked like a ghost, and she told me to shut up and mind my own business."

Keene scribbled notes onto his legal pad, his pen pressing so hard the paper grooved.

"Did you know she had the wooden ruler in her bottom drawer, Liam?"

Liam looked at Keene with hollow, dead eyes.

"That ruler isn't from the school, Mr. Keene," Liam whispered. "She brought that ruler from our house. She’s had it in her desk since September."