Upon closer examination of the knife itself, Will recognized it as his own. He tried to downplay the situation—It’s a popular knife set. I bet many people have it—and yet no one could dispute the look of recognition that crossed his face, the look of shock and horror.

There in the principal’s office, Otto began to cry.

What did you think you were doing? Will asked him gently, a hand on Otto’s shoulder, massaging it. You’re better than that, buddy, he said. You’re smarter than that.

By then, they were both crying. I was the only one whose eyes remained dry.

Otto confessed to us then in not quite so many words, his voice hard to hear at times through the gasping sobs, that, the previous spring, he’d become the target of teenage bullying. He thought it would go away on its own, but the situation had only become more exacerbated when he returned to school that August.

What Otto told us was that some of the more popular boys in school claimed he was making eyes at another kid in his class. A boy. Rumors circulated quickly, and before long, not a day went by that Otto wasn’t called a homo, a queer, a fairy, a fag. Stupid faggot, they’d say. Die, faggot, die.

Otto went on and on, rambling off the epithets his classmates used. Only when Otto paused for breath did the principal ask who, specifically, said these things, and whether there were witnesses to Otto’s claims or if this was simply a matter of he said, she said, so to speak.

There was the clear sense that the principal didn’t believe him.

Otto went on. He told us how the smack talk was only part of it. Because there was also the physical abuse, the threats. Being cornered in the boys’ bathroom or shoved into lockers. The cyberbullying. The photos they’d taken of him, heinously photoshopped to their liking, and shared far and wide.

This broke my heart and made me angry with good reason. I wanted to find the boys who had done this to Otto and wring their little necks. My blood pressure spiked. There was a pounding in my head, my chest, as my hand fell to the back of Otto’s chair to steady myself. What will happen to those boys? I’d asked, demanding, Certainly they’ll be punished for what they’ve done. They can’t get away with this.

His reply was limp. If Otto would tell us who did this, I could talk to them, he said. A look crossed Otto’s face. He would never tell on these kids because if he did, life would suddenly be even more insufferable than it already was.

Why didn’t you tell us? Will asked, dropping down beside Otto so that he could look him straight in the eye.

Otto looked at him, head shaking, and asserted, I’m not gay, Dad, as if it would matter if he were. I’m not gay, he maintained, losing any lingering traces of composure.

But that wasn’t the question Will had asked because things like that—sexual orientation—didn’t matter to Will or me.

Why didn’t you tell us you were being bullied? Will clarified then, and that was when Otto said he did. He did tell. He told me.

In that moment, my heart sank so low it slipped right out of me.

Violence throughout the city was on a rise. That meant more and more patients showing up in my emergency room with bloodied bodies and gunshot wounds. My everyday routine started to resemble the sensationalist portrayal of ERs you see on TV, and not merely all fevers and broken bones. Add to that the fact that we’d been understaffed. Back in those days, my twelve-hour shifts looked more like fifteen, and it was a constant marathon during which there was little time to empty my bladder or eat. I was in a fog when I was home, tired and sleep-deprived. I forgot things. A dental cleaning, to pick up a gallon of milk on the way home from work.

Had Otto told me he was being bullied and I’d dismissed it?

Or had I been so lost in thought that I didn’t hear him at all?

Will’s eyes had turned to mine then, inquiring in that single incredulous stare whether I had known. I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head, made him believe that Otto hadn’t told me. Because maybe he had and maybe he hadn’t. I didn’t know.

What made you think it was okay to take a knife to school? Will had asked Otto then, and I tried to imagine the logic that went through his mind that morning when deciding to take the knife. Would there be legal recourse for what he had done, or would a slap on the wrist suffice? How could I possibly stand to send him back to the classroom when this was through?

What did you think you were going to do with it, buddy? Will asked, meaning the knife, and I braced myself, not sure I was ready to hear his reply.

Otto gazed over a shoulder at me then and whispered, his voice breathy from crying, It was Mom’s idea. I blanched at his words, turning all shades of white because of the preposterousness of the statement. A bold-faced lie. It was Mom’s idea to take the knife to school. To scare them with, Otto lied, his eyes dropping to the floor while Will, the police officer and I watched on. She’s the one who put it in my backpack, he said under his breath, and I gasped, knowing immediately why he said it. I was the one who always had his back. We’re cut from the same cloth, Otto and me. He’s a mama’s boy; he’s always been. He thought I would protect him from this, that if I could take the blame for what he’d done, he’d get off scot-free. But he didn’t pause to think of the ramifications it might have on my reputation, on my career, on me.

I was heartbroken for Otto. But now I was also angry.

Until that moment, I didn’t know he was being picked on at school. And far be it from me to suggest he bring a knife, a knife!, to school to threaten teenage boys with, much less slip it inside his backpack.

How did he possibly think anyone would fall for that lie?

That’s ridiculous, Otto, I breathed out as all eyes in the room moved in unison to mine. How could you say that? I asked, my own eyes starting to well with tears. I pressed a finger to his chest. I whispered, You did this, Otto. You, and he winced in the chair as if he’d been slapped. He turned his back to me and once again began to cry.

Soon after, we took Otto home, having been informed that there would be an expulsion hearing before the board to see if Otto could return to school. We didn’t wait for an answer. I could never send Otto back there again.