Chapter 2 - Room 204
The interior of Room 204 smelled of dry-erase markers, floor wax, and latent anxiety. Colorful alphabet charts and student art covered the walls, creating a stark contrast to the towering man who currently sat in a tiny wooden chair at the back of the room.
Cassius had folded his long frame into the small adult-guest chair beside Eli’s desk. His knees nearly touched his chest, but his posture was completely rigid, his expression an unreadable mask. Outside the classroom door, two of his men stood like statues in the hallway, causing every passing teacher to pick up their pace and walk briskly in the opposite direction.
The classroom teacher, Ms. Clara Vance—a young woman in her late twenties—stood at the whiteboard with a piece of chalk frozen in her trembling fingers. She had tried three times to start the morning announcements, her voice cracking on every third word.
"C-Children," Ms. Vance stammered, adjusting her glasses. "Welcome to... to Bring Someone Special Day. As... as you know, today each of you will come to the front, show your drawing, and read the short essay you wrote about the person who inspires you most."
Sitting around the room, the parents—mostly local business owners, lawyers, and suburban mothers—kept their eyes resolutely turned away from the back corner. None of them dared to make eye contact with Cassius. They whispered in low, frantic tones to their children, warning them not to make sudden movements or loud noises.
Eli sat at his desk, his small hands carefully smoothing out the crumpled edges of his drawing. The paper was still the same: two figures side by side, one small, one tall. But the adult figure was still missing a face.
Cassius leaned slightly sideways, his head tilting toward Eli. "Why haven't you drawn it yet?" he asked in a low whisper.
"I didn't bring my colored pencils," Eli whispered back. "They're at home."
Cassius reached into his inner suit pocket. He didn't pull out a weapon or a checkbook. He pulled out a sleek, hand-crafted Montblanc fountain pen made of black resin and gold trim. He unscrewed the cap with a soft click and placed it gently on Eli's wooden desk.
"Use ink," Cassius murmured. "It lasts longer."
Eli looked at the heavy gold pen. He touched the polished barrel with his thumb. "What if I mess up? You can't erase ink."
"Then don't mess up," Cassius said. "And if you do, you make the mistake part of the picture. You don't hide it."
Eli looked at Cassius for a long moment, nodding once. He took the heavy pen in his small hand and placed the tip onto the blank oval of the adult figure's head.
"Julian," Ms. Vance called out from the front, her voice slightly regaining its composure. "Would you like to go first?"
Julian stood up proudly, holding a piece of heavy cardstock. He walked to the front of the class, accompanied by his father, who adjusted his lapels and looked around the room, clearly trying to reclaim his lost prestige.
Julian read his essay in a loud, rehearsed voice. He talked about his father's Porsche, the trips to Hawaii, the big house with the swimming pool, and how his father was the most powerful man in Las Vegas because he managed fifty employees. When he finished, his father beamed, clapping loudly, and a few parents joined in with polite applause.
Julian looked toward the back of the room, offering Eli a smug smirk as he returned to his seat.
"Very nice, Julian," Ms. Vance said nervously. She scanned her attendance sheet, her eyes lingering over one specific name at the bottom. She swallowed hard, looking toward the back corner. "Eli... would you like to take your turn?"
The room went dead quiet again.
Eli froze. His small fingers tightened around the heavy gold pen. He looked down at his paper, then up at Ms. Vance. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The old, familiar paralysis began to creep into his chest—the feeling that his voice didn't matter, that whatever he said would be drowned out by the noise of a world that had no room for him.
Cassius didn't touch the boy. He didn't pat his back or offer soft words of encouragement. He simply leaned down, his dark eyes level with Eli's.
"You asked me a question last night on the roof," Cassius said softly, his deep voice audible only to the boy.
Eli looked at him. "How to stand alone without being afraid."
"You want the answer?" Cassius asked. "It's simple. You don't stand up for them," he flicked his eyes toward the staring parents and kids. "You stand up for yourself. The moment you care what they think, they own you. Do you let them own you?"
Eli shook his head slowly. "No."
"Then get up there," Cassius said.
May you like
Eli took a deep breath. He capped the gold pen, picked up his paper, and stood up from his small chair. He walked down the center aisle toward the front of the whiteboard. Every eye in the room followed him, but Eli didn't look at Julian, nor did he look at Ms. Vance.
He stood behind the small wooden podium, adjusted his paper, and looked directly at the back corner of the room, where Cassius Wren sat in a tiny chair, waiting.
