I CONFISCATED A MILITARY ID—AND THE OWNER PASSED IN 2014 It was supposed to be a normal Tuesday. Third period. Rain outside. Juniors half-asleep. Then Elias walked in. New transfer. Hoodie up. Wouldn’t make eye contact. Just sat in the back row, tapping a plastic card on the desk. Click. Click. Click. I finally walked over to confiscate it—thinking it was a vape. It wasn’t. It was a military access card. Burned at the edges, heat-warped lamination. The name was blacked out with something sharp.

"I confiscated a scorched military ID from a first grader. It belonged to the man standing motionless in the rain on the playground... a man the government said died in 2014. It was supposed to be a normal Tuesday at Oak Creek Elementary. I’m just a teacher. My biggest worry is usually tying shoes, opening juice boxes, or breaking up arguments over who gets the blue crayon. Then Elias walked in. He was the new student in 1B. A small, pale boy with platinum blonde hair and eyes that were too blue

THEY MOCKED MY MOM—THEN THE SWAT TEAM CAME FOR ME "Your mom’s not a Navy SEAL," Jason snorted. "She probably sells protein shakes on Facebook.” Tuesday morning. Smelled like bleach and despair. I was in the back of homeroom, shrinking into my hoodie, praying the bell would save me. It didn’t. “Career Narratives,” Mrs. Gable said. “Share what your parents do.” Kill me. Doctors. CEOs. Real estate moguls. Everyone had a LinkedIn dad or Pilates mom. Then it was my turn. “My mom… works in logistics,”