Chapter 3 - WHAT IVO HAD BEEN GIVING AWAY
Ivo’s teacher was named Mrs. Grant.
She cried when she saw the video.
Not dramatically.
Her eyes filled.
Then she turned the laptop away from herself.
“I wish he had told me.”
“He’s five.”
“I know.”
The principal, Dr. Warren, stayed more controlled.
“What exactly has Ivo said about prior awards?”
I listed them.
Blue reading ribbon.
Fall art certificate.
Science-week stickers.
Mrs. Grant opened a classroom record.
“The reading ribbon was issued to Ivo.”
“Yes.”
“The art certificate too.”
“Yes.”
“Science stickers are less formal.”
“I know.”
Dr. Warren asked:
“Did any of those items later appear in his cousin’s possession?”
“I don’t know.”
That was the correct answer.
Then he surprised me.
“Her school contacted us last month.”
“Why?”
“Verification request.”
My pulse shifted.
“For what?”
“A portfolio.”
“What portfolio?”
Dr. Warren looked at the academic coordinator.
She answered.
“Melisande’s daughter is applying to Alden Academy.”
I knew the school.
Private.
Selective.
Expensive.
Families loved saying their children attended before the children were old enough to spell tuition.
Alden accepted students starting in second grade.
Melisande’s daughter was seven.
“They requested verification of several achievements attributed to her,” the coordinator continued.
“What achievements?”
“A reading distinction. Community art certificate. Early design project.”
My skin went cold.
“Those sound like Ivo’s.”
“Some descriptions overlap.”
“Why didn’t anyone call me?”
“Because the request concerned another child. We responded that our records did not verify those achievements under her name.”
Good.
“So the school already knew?”
“Not about copying. Only that we could not verify them.”
Then Melisande escalated.
She apparently told Alden that several achievements had been completed through “joint family learning activities,” not Ivo’s school.
That could explain similar materials.
Could.
I looked at Mrs. Grant.
“What about his project?”
She opened photographs from classroom work sessions.
Ivo drawing the first street layout.
Ivo placing miniature houses.
Ivo with two classmates testing where toy cars could cross.
Dates.
Clear.
“He created this here,” she said. “Children received some adult help cutting materials, but the concept and presentation were his.”
I breathed out.
Then Dr. Warren said:
“There is still a problem.”
Of course.
Melisande’s complaint contained an upload receipt from Alden Academy.
A digital copy of a nearly identical neighborhood-safety project had been submitted under her daughter’s name.
Two weeks before Ivo’s school showcase.
Earlier than his final submission.
Not earlier than his classroom work.
But earlier than the public medal.
That gave her enough chronology to create confusion.
“Did the daughter make another version?”
“We don’t know.”
“Can Alden show us?”
“With parental consent or formal investigation.”
Melisande was unlikely to consent.
Naomi said:
“Then let the schools investigate.”
I wanted to call my sister.
I didn’t.
Good.
The school placed Ivo’s regional showcase entry under temporary review.
Not punishment.
Preservation.
He kept his medal because the medal recognized his classroom achievement, not the regional submission.
When I told him after school, he asked:
“Did Aunt Melisande take it?”
“No.”
“Can she?”
“No.”
This time I was certain.
Then he reached into his backpack.
Pulled out a folded photograph.
My niece wearing Ivo’s missing blue reading ribbon.
Around her neck.
“Where did you get that?”
“She gave it to me today.”
His cousin attended another school but their after-school programs shared a community center once a week.
I turned the photo over.
In childish handwriting:
I’m sorry Mom said it was mine.
My anger shifted.
May you like
The seven-year-old girl I had almost unconsciously placed on the opposite side was not stealing anything.
She was being made to wear evidence.
