Malik grinned at his best friend. Unlike most of the kids at Jefferson, Ethan never made him feel like an outsider. I guess. Are you talking about your dad's job today? Ethan's smile faltered slightly.
Yeah. Not much to say though. Dad's still at the factory, same as always. They walked into Ms. Anderson's classroom together, taking their usual seats near the back.
The room was already buzzing with excitement as students compared notes on their presentations. My dad just closed a merger worth $50 million, bragged Tyler Whitman, a blonde boy whose father owned half the real estate in Northern Virginia. Well, my mom met with three senators yesterday, countered Sophia Green. Not to be outdone, Miss 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. And teachers. 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. Xanderson 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. Miss 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 8 years. Oh my, Miss 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.