“Jordan.” Her voice was quiet. “I saw the zero. I saw the behavior report. It’s already in the portal. That means it’s in your permanent record. That means it goes to colleges if we don’t fix it.”
He tried to bluff. “What? That’s nothing. Ms. Vonn is just—”
And for the first time that day, Jordan smiled.
Then came the Tuesday that changed everything.
Lena Miles was not a helicopter parent. She believed in skinned knees, forgotten homework, and the quiet dignity of a child learning from her own mistakes. But when her son, Jordan, started his freshman year at Druid Hills High School in Dekalb County, a well-meaning colleague at the CDC had pulled her aside.
Jordan looked stricken. “She hates me now.”
Lena turned off her phone. She walked back inside, kissed Jordan on the top of his head, and said, “Curry’s ready. And after dinner, I want you to teach me how to play Valorant .”
“Mom?”