“What happened?”
“There’s a meeting tonight.”
“With who?”
“The school board. Some parents. A few faculty. The Mercers.”
I leaned against the side of my cab and watched diesel shimmer on wet pavement.
“For what?”
She went quiet.
Then:
“They were already planning to convert the auto shop and logistics room.”
I stood up straighter.
“Convert them into what?”
“A leadership lab.”
I shut my eyes.
Of course it had a name like that.
“What does that mean?”
“It means they want to tear out the lifts, clear out the engine bays, get rid of the freight simulator, and build some presentation space with glass walls and media stations and college branding.”
The fuel pump clicked hard into the tank.
I barely heard it.
“The logistics room too?”
“Yeah.”
That room mattered to me more than I knew until that moment.
It was where students learned routing, supply chains, inventory systems, commercial safety basics.
Not truck driving exactly.
But the bones of how goods move.
The bones of how shelves stay stocked and clinics get supplies and towns keep breathing.
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