Well, my mom met with three senators yesterday, countered Sophia Green, not to be outdone. Ms. Anderson swept into the room exactly as the bell rang. She was tall and elegant, with honey blonde hair swept into a perfect bun, and clothes that screamed designer labels.
At 45, she was considered one of Jefferson’s most respected teachers, a 20-year veteran who had taught the children of two former presidents. Good morning, class, she said, her voice carrying that particular tone, teacher’s perfect, warm on the surface but with steel underneath. I trust you’re all prepared for today’s presentations? Her gaze swept the room, lingering a moment longer on Malik and Ethan than the others.
Malik had noticed this before, how Ms. Anderson seemed to expect less from them. With other students, she pushed and challenged. With Malik, her voice often took on a patronizing tone, as if she were speaking to someone much younger.
We’ll go, in alphabetical order by last name, Ms. Anderson announced, consulting her tablet. Carter, that means you’re first. Malik’s stomach dropped.
He hadn’t expected to go first. Taking a deep breath, he made his way to the front of the classroom, 24 pairs of eyes following his every move. My name is Malik Carter, he began, his voice steadier than he felt.
My presentation is about my dad’s job. Speak up, Malik, Ms. Anderson instructed, her tone suggesting she’d already found his performance lacking. Malik cleared his throat and continued, louder this time.
My dad’s name is Jonathan Carter, and he works at the Pentagon. The room fell silent for a split, second before a snicker broke out from Tyler’s corner. It spread like wildfire until half the class was giggling behind their hands.
Ms. Anderson didn’t silence them. Instead, a smug smile played at her lips. The Pentagon, Malik? Really? Malik nodded, confused by the response.
Yes, ma’am. He’s worked there for eight years. Oh, my, Ms. Anderson said with exaggerated interest.
And what does he do there? Is he the president too? She turned toward the class with a theatrical wink that sent them into another fit of laughter. Malik felt heat rising in his cheeks. No, ma’am, he works in security operations.
He, I’m sure he does, Ms. Anderson interrupted, her voice dripping with condescension. Perhaps next time we can stick to the truth rather than trying to impress everyone. Malik stood frozen at the front of the room.
But I am telling the truth, he insisted, his voice growing smaller. You may sit down now, Malik, Ms. Anderson said firmly. We have a lot of presentations to get through today.
As Malik returned to his seat, his legs felt like lead. The sniggering continued around him, and he could hear Tyler whispering. Pentagon, yeah, right, probably the janitor.
From beside him, Ethan’s hand shot up. Ms. Anderson, Malik isn’t lying. I’ve seen his dad’s ID badge.
Ms. Anderson’s smile tightened. That’s enough, Ethan, unless you’d like to join Malik in detention for disrupting class. Ethan’s face reddened, but he fell silent, shooting Malik an apologetic look.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Malik moved through his classes mechanically, the humiliation of the morning weighing on him like a physical burden. By the time the final bell rang, all he wanted was to go home and forget this day had ever happened.
Jonathan was waiting in the car when Malik emerged from school. One look at his son’s face told him everything he needed to know. Rough day, he asked as Malik slid into the passenger seat.
Yeah, Malik mumbled, staring out the window. They drove in silence for a few minutes before Jonathan spoke again. Want to talk about it? Malik hesitated.
Then the words spilled out. We had to talk about our parents’ jobs today. I told them you work at the Pentagon.
And everyone laughed at me, even Ms. Anderson. She acted like I was making it up to sound important. Jonathan’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel, but his voice remained calm.
I see. She made me look like a liar in front of everyone, Malik continued his voice cracking. Why didn’t you ever come to career day? Then maybe they’d believe me.
You know why, Malik, Jonathan replied. My schedule doesn’t always allow for those things. It’s not fair, Malik said.
Everyone else’s parents come to school stuff. Jonathan pulled the car into their driveway before turning to face his son. People doubt what they don’t understand, Malik.
Sometimes being underestimated can be an advantage. How is being called a liar an advantage, Malik asked bitterly. Before Jonathan could answer, his phone buzzed with an incoming call.
He glanced at the screen, and Malik saw his father’s expression change instantly, becoming harder, more focused. I need to take this, Jonathan said, his tone shifting to something more businesslike. Go inside and start your homework.
We’ll talk more later. Malik grabbed his backpack and trudged into the house while his father remained in the car. Through the living room window, he could see Jonathan speaking intently into his phone, his free hand making sharp, decisive gestures.
Later that evening, as Malik finished his math homework at the kitchen table, he heard his father’s voice from the study. The door was ajar, and Jonathan’s words drifted out, tense and hushed. I understand the implications.
No, that’s not acceptable. We need to address this immediately. Curious, Malik crept closer to the study door.
His father rarely brought work home, and when he did, he usually kept his office door firmly closed. I’ll handle it personally, Jonathan was saying. Yes, first thing tomorrow.
Malik quickly retreated as he heard his father ending the call. A moment later, Jonathan emerged from the study, his face grave until he spotted Malik. Then, like flipping a switch, his expression softened.
Finished with your homework, he asked. Almost, Malik replied. Is everything okay? Jonathan nodded.
Just some work stuff, nothing for you to worry about. Later that night, unable to sleep, Malik got up for a glass of water. As he passed by his bedroom window, a movement outside caught his eye.
Looking down at the street, he saw a black SUV parked across from their house, its engine running. Malik watched as a man in a dark suit got out, spoke briefly into what looked like a radio on his wrist, then scanned the surrounding area before returning to the vehicle. Confused and a little frightened, Malik went to his father’s room and knocked softly.
Dad, there’s a car outside, I think someone’s watching our house. Jonathan, who seemed to be still awake despite the late hour, came to the window and looked out. His face betrayed no surprise.
Don’t worry about it, he said, placing a reassuring hand on Malik’s shoulder. Go back to bed. But who are they? Why are they outside our house? Malik, Jonathan said firmly.