Jeremy pressed his palm flat on his thigh, his fingers spreading across the navy denim of his jeans.

He raised the charcoal and wrote three small, tight numbers in the upper right corner of the page.

The number was 408.

He pressed the charcoal so hard into the paper that the tip broke off, leaving a little black crumb on the bedspread.

“What’s that?” I asked, touching the edge of the pad.

Jeremy looked straight into my eyes for three whole seconds, then tapped the margin twice with his index finger.

“Look at the numbers, Mom,” he whispered.