The Summons
Jayden hated staff meetings.
Not the small check-ins with Ms. Delaney — those he could handle. But the big meetings, with caseworkers, probation officers, and teachers all packed into one room, always felt like a trial.
He wasn't a kid in those rooms. He was a list of mistakes written in ink.
This one was called for a "progress review." Ms. Delaney explained it calmly at breakfast, but Jayden caught the concern in her eyes. "We'll just talk about how things are going," she said. "Be honest. I'll be right there with you."
Her reassurance didn't make the knot in his stomach loosen.
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The Circle of Adults
The meeting was held in a bland office at the group home. Jayden sat in a hard chair across from a semi-circle of adults.
There was Mr. Carr, his probation officer, thick binder balanced on his lap.
Mrs. Givens, his math teacher, already frowning before she spoke.
Ms. Waller, the caseworker who always looked rushed, her eyes darting to her phone every few minutes.
And Ms. Delaney, sitting beside Jayden, her hand resting lightly on the table, steady but ready.
The director of the home, Mr. Ray, started. "We're here to review Jayden's progress. Let's keep it constructive."
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The Judgment
Mrs. Givens spoke first. "Academically, Jayden has ability, but he refuses to engage. He spends class drawing instead of working. He's disruptive, even when he's quiet. Other students avoid him."
Jayden clenched his fists under the table. He wanted to shout that his drawings weren't "disruptions" — they were the only reason he didn't explode.
Mr. Carr cleared his throat. "Behaviorally, there's improvement. He avoided a confrontation recently. But his record is still stacked with aggression. We have to be realistic about the trajectory here."
Trajectory. Like his life was a train track he couldn't get off.
Ms. Waller added, "We're doing what we can, but placements like his aren't meant for long-term. If he slips again, he may need another move."
Another move. Another trash bag. Another goodbye.
The knot in his stomach twisted tighter.
---
The Defense
Finally, Ms. Delaney spoke. Her voice was calm, but sharp enough to cut through the noise.
"Jayden isn't just his file. He's been trying. He's been drawing instead of fighting. That's growth. You may not see it because you're looking for failures, but I see the effort every day."
She looked around the room, her eyes steady. "You keep asking him to be better, but you don't see how hard it is just to survive in his shoes. You measure him by the wrong yardstick."
Jayden's throat tightened. He'd never heard anyone speak like that for him — not in front of the people who usually defined him by his worst moments.
---
The Aftermath
The meeting ended with more notes added to his file, more vague promises of "monitoring." Nothing felt different on paper.
But as they walked out, Ms. Delaney placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You're more than they say you are," she murmured.
Jayden didn't know how to respond. He just nodded, the words burning deep.
That night, in his sketchbook, he drew the meeting room — the semi-circle of adults with blank faces. In the corner, he sketched Ms. Delaney's eyes sharp and alive, the only ones who saw him.
Underneath, he wrote:
If they can't see me, I'll draw myself until they do.