You’re wrong about everything. That earned another laugh from Reeves, but this one wasn’t just amusement. It was the laugh of someone convinced they’d already won.
He looked around the store, almost inviting others to share in the joke. Wrong? Kid, I’ve worked side by side with real heroes. I’ve met soldiers.
I’ve met the guys who actually go overseas, do the dangerous stuff. And trust me, they don’t look like your mom. The last sentence landed heavier than anything else he’d said.
Amaya froze, her face hot with shame and fury. She knew exactly what he meant, and so did everyone listening. Kaylin gasped.
That’s not fair, she blurted. You don’t even know her. Reeves turned his gaze on her, his grin spreading wider.
And you do? He said. What? Did you two sit around swapping war stories? Please. I’ve been in uniform longer than you two have been alive.
I think I know what’s real and what’s made up. Kaylin shrank back, but Amaya stood her ground, though her hands trembled. You’ll see.
She’s coming. The officer smirked. Sure she is.
Maybe she’ll parachute right through the skylight, huh? He chuckled, shaking his head as if the joke were too good to resist. Don’t worry, kid. You’ll learn.
The world’s tough. Better to face the truth now than keep living and make-believe. Shoppers whispered, some shaking their heads, others quietly pulling out phones, recording the scene.
Amaya noticed a woman pretending to flip through yoga pants, her phone angled just slightly toward them. A teenage boy near the checkout nudged his friend, pointing. The humiliation weighed on her like a heavy backpack.
For the first time, Amaya wished she hadn’t said anything at all. Maybe she should have kept quiet, kept her mom’s life private, the way Nicole often asked her to. But the thought of Reeves smirking, of everyone believing his version instead of hers, made her chest burn.
She wiped her eyes quickly with the back of her hand and stood taller. You’ll see, she repeated, firmer this time. The officer leaned back against the rack of hoodies, folding his arms like he’d just wrapped up a case.
We’ll see, huh? He said with a smirk. All right, then. I’ll wait.
The silence after his words was louder than the music playing over the store’s speakers. Every second stretched, the crowd restless but curious. Some waited to see if Amaya would break, if she’d shrink away in shame.
She didn’t. But while Amaya stood there, fighting not to cry, her mother was already walking past the food court, her boots striking the tile floor with every step, about to turn the corner and change everything. Amaya’s heart pounded so loudly, she was sure everyone could hear it.
She stayed planted in front of the shelves of sneakers, but her insides were screaming for her to run. She wanted to disappear, wanted to rewind the moment she’d opened her mouth. If she had just said, my mom’s busy, none of this would have happened.
Now, strangers stared at her like she was the star of a show she never agreed to be in. Officer Colton Reeves stood like he was enjoying a slow afternoon comedy. He rocked back on his heels, arms crossed, his smirk glued in place.
You’re awfully quiet now, he said, starting to realize you might have stretched the truth a little. The words stabbed. Amaya kept her eyes down, but his voice dragged her back up every time.
She could almost hear the whispers circling. Why is he going after her like that? Someone muttered from a few aisles over. Maybe the kid really did make it up, another voice answered, low but not low enough.
Kaylin tugged at her sleeve again. Amaya, please, let’s just wait for your mom outside. You don’t have to keep talking to him.
But Amaya’s chest burned. She wasn’t sure if it was anger or shame or both. I’m not lying, she whispered, mostly to herself.
Reeves leaned closer, his voice a notch lower now. Look, I’m trying to save you from yourself. You run around telling stories like this and people are going to laugh.
Not everyone’s going to be nice about it. You’re better off sticking to the truth. Your mom works hard.
She takes care of you. That’s enough. No need to pretend she’s some kind of war hero.
Her fingernails dug into her palms. Pretend. That word echoed in her head.
Pretend. As if the nights she cried into her pillow because she missed her mom were imaginary. As if the medals in the shadow box on their wall were souvenirs from a gift shop.
For the first time, doubt slipped in. Not because she questioned her mom, but because she questioned herself. Maybe she shouldn’t have spoken so casually.
Maybe it was her fault strangers now thought her mother’s life was a joke. She bit the inside of her cheek so hard it stung. Kaylin whispered, he doesn’t matter.
You know what’s true. But it didn’t feel like that. Truth didn’t matter when no one believed you.
Reeves shifted his weight, glancing around the store like he had an audience to keep entertained. Tell you what, he said, almost chuckling. If your mom walks in here in uniform, I’ll buy you those sneakers myself.
He gestured toward the wall of shoes. But until then, maybe keep the fairy tales at home. Fairy tales again.
Her vision blurred, but she refused to blink. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. A woman nearby, holding a basket of clearance shirts, finally spoke.
She’s just a kid, she said firmly. Reeves turned his head slowly, locking eyes with the woman. And I’m just telling her the truth.
Better she hears it now than keeps embarrassing herself. The woman frowned but looked away, shaking her head. No one else said a word.
Amaya’s stomach twisted. Why didn’t anyone defend her? Why was it easier for everyone to stand and watch instead of saying she was right? Her mother always told her, Courage isn’t loud, Amaya. Sometimes it’s just standing tall when you want to shrink.
But standing tall felt impossible when the floor itself seemed to push her down. She pressed her lips together until they hurt. You’ll see, she whispered again, her voice trembling.
Reeves sighed as if bored now. Kid, I’ve heard it all. Aliens, superheroes, secret agents.
Believe me, I’ve heard every story. And every time, it’s the same thing. Kids wanting to feel special.
Nothing wrong with that. But the truth? The truth doesn’t need defending. His words dug deep.
Because wasn’t that exactly what she was doing? Defending. If the truth was so obvious, why did she feel like she was losing? Kaylin stepped between them, her small frame almost shaking. You’re being mean.
She’s not lying. Reeves arched a brow. And how do you know? Because I’ve seen pictures, Kaylin snapped.
Her mom’s in uniform. She’s got medals. She… She stopped, realizing the words sounded thin against his disbelief.
Reeves chuckled under his breath. Pictures? Anyone can buy a uniform at an army surplus store. Doesn’t make it real.
Amaya clenched her jaw. She hated that he had an answer for everything. Hated that every word he spoke made the crowd lean a little closer, like he was telling the version that made sense.
Her knees felt weak, but she forced herself to stand straighter. You’ll see, she repeated for the third time, the words coming out stronger this time. Reeves tilted his head, smiling like a man indulging a child.
All right, I’m waiting. The crowd wasn’t whispering anymore. They were just watching.
The air thickened with expectation, every second dragging like an hour. Amaya could barely breathe, her thoughts racing, her palms slick with sweat. And then, just faintly, she heard it.