An awkward silence filled the room. It wasn’t the silence of curiosity, but one of disbelief, mixed with a hint of restrained laughter. Miss Carter, a woman in her forties who always kept her hair neatly tied in a bun and rarely strayed from a stern expression, frowned.
She had already had “conversations” with Marcus about what she believed were his “fantasies.”
“Marcus,” she said, her voice carrying a barely hidden condescension. “We’ve talked about this before. You know that’s not true. No one in your family lives near Washington, D.C., and certainly not working somewhere as important as the Pentagon.”
A few giggles began to ripple through the room.
A boy sitting in the front row, Tyler, muttered loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Marcus always lies! His dad doesn’t work at the Pentagon. He’s probably just a janitor!”
The other children, encouraged by the teacher’s authority and Tyler’s boldness, joined the teasing.
“Liar!” one girl shouted.
“You’re making it up!” another added.
Marcus felt a cold sting in his chest. His small hands trembled as he held a wrinkled drawing of a man in uniform. Shame and injustice tightened around him like a knot.