My musings are cut short when one of my students raises his hand for help with his coat.
“Okay, Billy, go stand by your desk and get ready for prayers,” I tell him and grin, when another student catches my attention.
“Manny?Back to your desk please,” I say, but something is captivating the boy.
“Miss Rosetto, he’s HUGE!”
I blink and turn toward the spot where Manny Ortega is practically frozen in place in his puffy Spider-Man jacket.
His mitten-covered hand is pressed against the glass pane of the door.
“Who’s huge, sweetheart?”
“That guy,” he whispers loudly.“Right outside the door.He’s a giant!”
A nervous flutter tightens in my chest.
“Back to your desk,” I say again, trying not to cause alarm as I cross the room quickly, my eyes darting to the hallway.
Yup, sure enough, there’s a man standing just outside.
Not just any man.
A very large man in all black—broad-shouldered, black boots, fitted jacket, buzzcut, and the kind of presence that makes you rethink your life choices.
He looks like he belongs in a Jason Bourne movie, not outside a kindergarten classroom.
I stiffen instantly.
My heart jackhammers as my mind races with a dozen awful scenarios in less than a second.
Until the man’s dark eyes meet mine and he moves to open the door with the gentlest push imaginable, like he’s tryingnotto scare the children.
“Miss Rosetto?”he asks, voice low and steady.“Sorry to interrupt.May I have a word?”
I blink.Stare.Swallow.
Then I hear my own voice, automatic and polite.“You’ll have to wait a moment.We’re about to pray.”
The dismissal bell hasn't rung yet, and it’s Friday.
That means final school-wide prayers, broadcast over the PA system so every classroom can join.
The man—tall, terrifying, tattooed—actually pauses.
His brow furrows.
And then something shifts in his expression.
He nods once, comes all the way inside the classroom.
And—this part stuns me—he clasps his hands together, bows his head slightly, and steps back respectfully toward the chalkboard corner, just out of the way.
I stare at him for half a beat longer, but he doesn’t look up.
Not even when the whiteboard flickers, and a video begins to play of one of our eighth-grade students leading the school in prayer.
All around me, my little ones begin to settle down.They stand with their tiny hands folded, eyes closed.
