“You’re making this a big deal unnecessarily,” I tell her.
“Oh yeah?” Deja sits back and folds her arms. “The last time you sat us down like this ‘just to talk’ you said you were getting a divorce. If this is bad news, I want to be here too.”
Deja’s words transport me back to the night we sat our children down at this counter and told them our lives were about to change forever. The only thing harder than telling the kids we were getting a divorce was asking Josiah for it. The memory swirls around us in the kitchen, and for a moment, the weight of it is so visceral, so real, it suffocates me.
“We need to talk to Kassim about our meeting with his teacher,” Josiah says, the deep timbre of his voice even and rich and reassuring.
“Oh. Why didn’t you just say so?” Deja grabs her plate. “Good luck, Seem.”
She swings her little narrow hips out of the kitchen, sass in every step.
“Am I in trouble?” Kassim mumbles, staring at his plate.
“No.” I lift his chin so he can meet my eyes. “The opposite. You’ve been so amazing, son. We have good news.”
I glance at Josiah, who, with brows lifted, inclines his head for me to continue.
“Ms. Halstead says you’re one of the smartest kids in the class.” I run a hand over his hair, which waves like Josiah’s when he needs a haircut, as he does now.
“Yeah.” Kassim nods like this is not new information, on the verge of preening. “I am.”
I huff a laugh, trading a quick grin with Josiah, whose eyes light with pride and affection.
“Confident, not cocky, son,” he reminds Kassim.
“Yes, sir,” Kassim replies, though the twitch of his lips marks him as less than repentant.
“You ever get bored in class?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah, but it’s okay. The other kids have a lot to learn, so we have to go slower.”
Josiah allows himself a quick grin at that before going on. “Ms. Halstead doesn’t want you to get bored. She thinks we need to figure out a way to challenge you more. We aren’t sure yet if it’s just giving you work from the next grade, or if it might be skipping a grade.”
Kassim’s eyes go wide and his mouth hangs open. “Go to sixth grade now?”
“No,” I rush to clarify. “But maybe next year instead of going to sixth, going to seventh. We aren’t sure yet, but we want to talk to you about this. Make sure you’re comfortable and ready for whatever is next.”
“But if I skip to seventh,” Kassim says, the vee between his brows deepening, “Jamal would still be in sixth.”
“Right,” Josiah says. “Jamal and your other friends could still be your friends, but they wouldn’t be in your classes anymore. That’sifwe all agree you should skip a grade. Like we said, we may find it’s better to just give you more challenging work in certain subjects. We just don’t want you to get bored.”
“And to make sure you’re meeting your potential,” I add with a smile. “We’re so proud of you, Kassim.”
“You are?” he asks, glancing from me to Josiah.
“Of course.” Josiah clasps the back of Kassim’s neck and squeezes. “You know we are.”
He nods, but a small smile teases the corners of his mouth, and he dips his head, hiding his expression.
“When we met with Ms. Halstead…” I begin, shooting a searching look Josiah’s way. He nods for me to go on. “She said if you do decide to skip a grade, we need to make sure you’re ready, not just academically, but in every way.”
“What’s that mean?” Kassim asks.
“A lot of kids are smart enough to skip a grade,” Joisah says. “But they end up having a hard time making new friends or adjusting. Ms. Halstead suggested maybe you should talk to someone about what you’re…well…”
He looks at me, and I realize he doesn’t know how to describe therapy in a way that Kassim would understand.
“Seem,” I say, leaning forward and looking directly into his eyes. “You know how I told you and Deja that Mommy needed to talk to someone?”