Page 31 of Hiss and Tell
“Of course. These things happen.” Her tone suggests Derek’s cancelations aren’t exactly unprecedented. “Milo, are you excited to show everyone your project?”
The classroom has been transformed with small tables set up throughout the space. Father-son pairs cluster around each table, children eagerly explaining their projects to their dads. The sight is wholesome and heartwarming, and makes Derek’s absence feel even more inexcusable.
“That’s our table!” Milo points to a space near the window where his name card sits next to an empty chair.
As we settle in, I notice several other fathers glancing our way with curiosity. As a Gorgon, I’m certainly used to standing out.
“Alright, everyone!” Miss Lee claps her hands. “Let’s begin our presentations. Tyler, would you like to go first?”
Tyler and his father present a project about trains, complete with a working model locomotive. Next comes Jamie with his dad talking about frogs, then several other presentations about space, cars, and art.
Finally, Miss Lee calls, “Milo, you’re up!”
Milo stands with confidence I’ve never seen from him before, carefully positioning his timeline poster and fossil box on the table.
“My project is about stegosaurus dinosaurs,” he begins, his voice clear and strong. “They were really big and had spikes on their tails and big plates on their backs!” He points to his carefully drawn pictures. “And they only ate plants, like vegetables!”
“Do you all want some dinosaur stickers?” He eagerly passes them out to kids and parents alike.
“My presentation partner is Mr. Sebastian,” Milo continues, beaming up at me. “He knows lots about dinosaurs too, and he helps me find the best books in the library.”
This is my cue. Standing carefully so I don’t overwhelm the small space, I add, “Milo did all the research for this project himself. His curiosity about prehistoric life and his attention to detail make him a natural scientist.”
As if sensing this is a special moment, my sanctuary effect spreads gently through the room, making everyone feel calm and engaged. Several children who had been fidgeting settle down, and the adults relax visibly.
“Would you like to see what a stegosaurus might have looked like?” I ask the group.
Milo’s eyes widen with excitement—we hadn’t planned this part, but he nods eagerly.
Focusing on the children’s natural wonder, I let my dream manifestation ability activate. Slowly, shimmering in the air above Milo’s timeline, a spectral stegosaurus begins to form. It’s smaller than life-size to fit the classroom, but detailed enough that you can see the individual plates along its back and the spikes on its tail.
The children gasp with delight, but it’s Milo’s expression of pure joy that makes the magic stronger. The stegosaurus becomes more solid, more real, walking slowly around the timeline poster as if browsing its own history.
“The plates were arranged in two rows,” Milo explains, his voice filled with wonder even though he’s seen my abilities before. “And they used their tail spikes for defense.”
The spectral stegosaurus obligingly swishes its tail, demonstrating the motion without endangering anyone.
Other children start asking questions—about the dinosaur’s diet, its habitat, how big they really were. Milo answers each one confidently, clearly in his element as the classroom’s resident dinosaur expert.
As the stegosaurus fades at the end of our presentation, the room erupts in applause. But the real reward is the huge smile on Milo’s face and the pride radiating from him.
“That was amazing!” Loraleigh exclaims. “How did you make the dinosaur appear?”
“Mr. Sebastian has special abilities,” Milo explains matter-of-factly. “But the important part is learning about what dinosaurs were really like.”
Miss Lee approaches our table as the breakfast portion begins. “That was extraordinary. I’ve never seen the children so engaged with a presentation.”
“Milo did all the hard work,” I tell her. “I just provided visual aids.”
“Well, whatever you did, he’s glowing with confidence. It’s wonderful to see.”
As parents and children mingle over chocolate chip pancakes and waffles, I find myself in conversation with several other fathers. They ask about my work at the library, my relationshipto Milo’s family, my background. The questions are friendly but curious—clearly Derek’s absence has been noticed, and my presence raises questions.
Dave, Tyler’s father, pulls me aside during a quiet moment. “I don’t know the situation with Milo’s dad, and it’s none of my business. But what you did here today—stepping up for that kid—that’s real character.”
“Milo’s a special boy. He deserves people who show up for him.”
“He’s lucky to have you in his corner.”
