Will the real James Byrne please stand up?

I came home from a day of teaching to find my husband Chris watching our two kids . . . and one of someone else's. Apparently, when James got to school today, his ID card wouldn't swipe. He dutifully took himself to the office, but it was a ridiculous amount of time before someone realized his card had been hacked. They tracked down the "other" James Byrne in social studies; he's probably a couple years older than J., with dark hair and eyes. His ID card looks just like James's--except for the picture, of course. The school seemed flummoxed. Apparently this has only happened a few times in the district, and always with older kids. They got James into class just fine, but no one knew what to do with not-James--who I can't call by his real name because he won't tell us what it is. I guess I don't blame him. They kept him in the office until school let out, at which point J. came back to the office, looking for him. My sweet kid. He was worried about him. Not-James wouldn't tell anyone anything about his family--sacred, I guess, that they'd get in trouble for the hack. I wonder how much they paid for him to get a shot at going to a decent suburban school. He didn't seem to think anyone was going to come to get him.

Anyway, James called Chris, and he went over to check on things. The school didn't want to release a child to a stranger, so Chris and James waited with him for an hour, until the office was closing down. The administrative guy didn't seem to know what to do with a kid no one would claim, so he eventually shrugged his shoulders and let Chris and James walk out with him.

He's sitting at the table, writing in a notebook. I can't tell what's the weirdest thing about this situation--that no one noticed the wrong James Byrne was in the third grade? That this kid-who-is-not-my-kid is here writing a paragraph about the American Revolution at the kitchen table? That, strangely, my younger son Evan is completely in love with him (I mean, really. Evan won't share his food with anyone, but he just finished giving not-James two entire graham crackers, piece by piece. It's the only time I've seen N-J smile since I got home)?

We're going to eat something, and then we'll figure out what to do. Chris has been holding off on calling the police in hopes that N-J will eventually spill enough for us to get him home. I hope so. I don't relish handing anyone over to child services.