Monday arrived with a sense of foreboding. The PTA meeting was held in a small, stuffy room at the back of the school, barely large enough to contain the tension that buzzed between parents and faculty. I spotted Mr. Grant at the far end, his posture rigid, his eyes scanning the room.
The chair, Mrs. Lin, began with the usual pleasantries, but the atmosphere was charged. “We are here to discuss the recent policy amendment,” she announced, her voice attempting to cut through the murmurs. “It’s important for us all to be on the same page.”
I watched as a slide presentation flickered to life, detailing the scope of the amendment. It was all there in black and white, but the implications felt like a shadow creeping over us. I raised my hand, a question forming on my lips, but Mrs. Lin’s gaze was firm. “Questions will be addressed at the end,” she said with a practiced smile.
As the presentation continued, I noticed a few exchanged glances, whispers that seemed to carry more weight than the slides. The room felt smaller, the air thinner. A parent beside me leaned in, her voice barely a whisper, “Do you think it’s because of the incident?”
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