Chapter 2: The "Truth Detector" in Kindergarten
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Teacher Hannah rules as queen, with her flowing golden curls and eyes that sparkle when she smiles. One clap of her hands, and all us little knights and princesses scramble to sit properly.
Morning playtime is the grandest festival in our kingdom. The classroom fills with a symphony of sounds—the dramatic "crash!" when block towers topple, the "choo-choo!" of toy trains chugging along, and Emily whispering secrets to her doll.
Those are just the sounds my regular ears pick up. With my "secret ears," I hear so much more.
Like Emily thinking to her doll: [Suzie, those lunch carrots are super gross. Mind if I sneak them to you later?]
Poor Suzie. She doesn't know what's coming.
My attention shifts to a major situation unfolding in the corner. Tim is holding a brand-new robot high above his head—it's awesome, all silver and flashing with lights. Tim's our class bully, and his dad always buys him the coolest new toys.
I can hear him bragging in his head: [Check out my Destroyer X9000! Best toy EVER! None of you losers have one! Bet you're all super jealous!]
Next to him stands little Lily, staring at the robot with wide, sparkling eyes, her tiny fingers twisting nervously together.
I hear her small, quivery thoughts: [Wow, such a pretty robot… I wish I could play with it too, just for a minute… but… I'm too scared to ask.]
Tim clutches the robot to his chest like a puppy guarding a bone. "Don't touch!" he snaps at Lily. "MINE!"
Lily's eyes immediately well up with tears, like a little bunny that's been shouted at.
I hate seeing girls cry. Plus, I'm pretty sure the [Angel System] doesn't approve of kids who won't share. Time for action!
I march over on my stubby legs, plant myself in front of them, and clear my throat loudly.
"Tim," I say, looking straight into his eyes with my most grown-up voice, "Teacher Hannah always says good toys should be shared with friends. Be a generous boy."
Tim pouts, thinking: [Don't wanna share! It's MY toy!]
Clearly, invoking the Queen's name isn't enough. Time for the nuclear option.
I stand on tiptoes, lean right up to his ear, and whisper mysteriously: "Just so you know, I called Santa last night. He told me he keeps a special list of kids who don't share. Those kids just get big black lumps of coal in their stockings on Christmas morning."
My words hit Tim like a thunderbolt.
I can practically see the epic battle raging in his little brain.
[MY robot… but… Santa… what if he really IS watching? I really want that fire truck with the extending ladder! Coal is so… yucky…]
His face scrunches up like he's eaten something sour. After what seems like forever (about ten seconds), he makes his painful decision.
With obvious reluctance, he holds out the precious Destroyer X to Lily. "O-okay… you can play for TEN minutes. But DON'T break it!"
Lily's whole face lights up as she carefully takes the robot, a huge smile spreading across her face.
Mission accomplished! I puff out my chest proudly, feeling like I've just negotiated world peace.
Just then, I catch Teacher Hannah's thoughts. She's been watching us from nearby.
[Goodness gracious, that Leo is something special… how does he always manage to fix these situations? It's like he has some kind of magical ability to understand exactly what to say!]
I give her a little wink. Hehe, if only she knew my secret.
The afternoon bell rings, and Mom appears right on time at the classroom door. One look at her face tells me the gray cloud I chased away this morning is back—and it's bigger and darker than before.
She tries to smile at me, but it stops at her lips and never reaches her eyes.
I run to her and grab her hand. The moment we touch, I hear the raging storm inside her heart.
[Brenda… she actually STOLE my project! Told the director my designs "lacked soul"! After all those sleepless nights… all that work… what am I supposed to do now?]
"Brenda." I commit that name to memory. It sounds like some kind of bitter vegetable.
Mom doesn't say anything, just holds my hand extra tight. She's quiet the whole way home.
Her hand feels cold in mine. That black storm in her heart keeps howling—full of anger and hurt and something else I don't quite understand yet, something called "helplessness."
I hate this feeling. Mom is my superhero, and superheroes aren't supposed to get bullied.
I squeeze Mom's hand tight and look up at her tired face. Deep in my heart, I make a solemn promise to myself.
"Nobody gets to bully my mom. NOBODY! That mean Brenda lady—I'm putting you on my list!"
