Matty pushed up his glasses and looked at me through the round plastic frames.

“Will that officer let you talk?”

I lifted Form 2841 off his lap, folded it neatly along its center crease and laid it flat on the wooden coffee table.

“That officer is going to read my official record whether he likes it or not.”

Matty reached out and touched the edge of the folded page, his little thumb resting right on the corner where the red ink bled through.

“Are you sure?”