The Backpack Drop Zone: One Sixth-Grade Truth That Exposed Our Quiet Crisis

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Part 2

The next morning, Room 304 smelled like pencil shavings and burnt coffee—normal things that made me believe, for a few quiet seconds, that yesterday hadn’t happened.

Then I saw the duffel bag.

The “Drop Zone” I had hung on the hook by the door was no longer just an empty symbol. It sagged under a weight it hadn’t carried the day before.

A small,continue reading …