then he asks, curiously, “What kind of granola bar?” I’ve never been so relieved to have a questionable snack in my gym bag. Dropping to a knee, I unzip my backpack, trying to remember which pouch I put it in. “Uh, I think…it’s fruit and nut.” Glancing up to see if my token will meet his approval, I’m met with a curled upper lip. “No chocolate chips?” Shit. Is this really happening? “No, sorry.” My shoulders sag, feeling every ounce of the weight of his sigh. The door slams shut again.
