walked to the office and waited
anxiously on an uncomfortable
wooden bench outside the door.
Finally the principal, Mr.
Friedman, walked out. “Trevor,
come in.” Waiting inside his office
was the head of mall security, two
uniformed police officers, and my
and Teddy’s homeroom teacher,
Mrs. Vorster. A roomful of silent,
stone-faced white authority figures
stood over me, the guilty young
black man. My heart was pounding.
I took a seat.
“Trevor, I don’t know if you
know this,” Mr. Friedman said, “but
Teddy was arrested the other day.”