Mikaela entered her brightly colored fifth grade classroom in Boston Public School, taking in the familiar faces of her classmates from fourth grade.

"Hey, Mikaela. Will your mom be teaching us this year?" asked one of the boys as she took her seat.

"I don’t know. I think she teaches seventh grade," sighed Mikaela.

The classroom door opened, and Mikaela’s friend, Anna Stanislaus walked in.

"Hi Mikaela," she greeted, settling into the seat next to her.

"Hi Anna. You’re looking... different," said Mikaela, taking in Anna’s new short cropped haircut that made her look fairly boyish.

"I cut it myself, you like it?" asked Anna, tossing her head.

"Well, if it’s what you want. Your dad might have been pissed though," chuckled Mikaela.

"Oh he totally was. But it was the only way to get him to let me stay here instead of being shipped off to some fancy-ass private Catholic school," grumbled Anna.

"Well, I’m happy you’re here," chuckled Mikaela, as the teacher entered.

"Settle down class. I’m Ms. Washington, your homeroom teacher for fifth grade," announced the tall and slender African American woman.

"Good morning Ms. Washington," chorused the class, and settled down into their desks.

---

"Mikaela, can you stay for a minute?" asked Ms. Washington as the end of day bell rang.

Mikaela approached the teacher’s desk nervously.

"Relax, you’re not in trouble. I just wanted to go over something you wrote in your History assignment," said Ms. Washington.

"OK," said Mikaela.

"You wrote that the Southerners shouldn’t have used slavery in the first place, and left the Africans in Africa. That’s quite a mature take. Can you explain why you think that is a good thing?" asked Ms. Washington.

"Well, the whole buying and selling people thing is gross in the first place. And it wasn’t like Africa didn’t have gold and stuff. I don’t get why anyone would have taken that kind of deal," said Mikaela.

Ms. Washington let out a tinkling laugh.

"Well, with modern times and technology, you would be right, but back then, it was a kill or be killed kind of world. When you have a bunch of guns and the other guy only has spears, you don’t consider that sort of thing. All you care about is what kind of spoils of war you can pull out, and people were pretty easy spoils," explained Ms. Washington.

"And why did the other guys not have guns?" asked Mikaela.

"Because guns need industrial machining, knowledge of gunpowder, and the ability to mine and process those things. While the Africans knew how to make things from metal, they didn’t have the kind of large scale factories or industries Europe was building. And you don’t wait for the other guy to catch up, if you can shoot him now, you shoot him and take the whatever he had. These days we have universal human rights, but back then? The conventional wisdom was the Africans were not even the same species," said Ms. Washington.

"Hmm, OK. So what’s wrong with my take, that I had to stay back?" asked Mikaela.

"Nothing, it’s just that while your take makes sense today, convincing a 17th Century British explorer of that was going to be a hard sell. And for a Southern plantation owner, having a bunch of people working for free was way better than paying a wage, even if the idea of buying people grossed them out," chuckled Ms. Washington.

"I see. But you still needed to buy them food and stuff, just like a pet dog or something. So wouldn’t it be easier to just pay them a few bucks for them to live freely?" asked Mikaela.

"Why pay somebody top dollar when you can throw them leftover scraps? That’s what they thought back in the day," said Ms. Washington.

"Still sounds like a pain in the ass," grumbled Mikaela.

"It was. Which is why the abolition of slavery and the subsequent civil rights movement worked," chuckled Ms. Washington.

"Hmm. I suppose so," conceded Mikaela.

"Well, it was nice talking to you. You may go now," said Ms. Washington dismissing Mikaela.

---

Mikaela saw a familiar silver Lamborghini Aventador as walked across the school parking lot.

"Hi, Mr. Stanislaus," she called out waving.

"Hi Mikaela," replied Stefan, rolling down his window.

"Where’s Anna? She left before I did," asked Mikaela.

"Staging a not going home protest because I came in the Lambo. She stormed off to the admin block," chuckled Stefan.

"So you’re waiting her out?" asked Mikaela.

"It’s my day off. I thought I might as well," said Stefan with a shrug.

"I have an idea. How about you take me home, and my mom takes Anna? I don’t mind riding in a Lambo," suggested Mikaela.

"Hmm, sounds good, but will your mom go for that?" asked Stefan, as Annette marched up to his car with Anna in tow.

"Mr. Stanislaus, Anna has been crying in the teacher’s staff room because you refuse to take her home. What do you have to say for yourself?" she asked him, her hands on her hips.

"I said nothing of the sort. Anna refused to come home with me because she thinks my car is embarrassing," said Stefan.

"Well it is embarrassing. You should be ashamed of yourself!" chided Annette, as Anna sniffled beside her.

"Tell you what Mom. I’ll come home with Mr. Stanislaus, and you can take Anna to her place. That way we both get what we want," said Mikaela.

"No. You’re both coming with me. Mr. Stanislaus here, needs to reflect on his actions," said Annette, taking Mikaela’s hand.

Mikaela pulled her hand away, and grabbed onto the Aventador’s wing mirror.

"I’m not coming home in that boring car!" she declared.

Annette forced herself to not slap Mikaela across the face.

"Ms. Petra, I don’t mind dropping Mikaela off. It solves the problem for both of us," said Stefan, sensing Annette’s rage, and trying to keep things steady.

"Fine. But tomorrow onwards, I’m taking the school bus. I’ve already got Ms. Petra to set it up. So don’t ever come here in this thing again!" shouted Anna, before she buried her face in Annette’s hoodie.

"Fine, hop in Mikaela, I’ll give you a ride home," sighed Stefan, opening the passenger scissor door.

Mikaela quickly scampered into the Aventador, and buckled herself in.

"Come along Anna, let those two go," sighed Annette as she ushered Anna towards her Hyundai Ioniq.

"Hold on a second Ms. Petra. You need my house keys, and I need yours. We’re both single parents, and can’t just leave the kids on the porch," called back Stefan.

"Fine. But you can come and return my keys, since this is all your fault," growled Annette, exchanging house keys with Stefan.

Once Annette and Anna had left, Stefan started up the Aventador.

"Ooh! What a sound!" exclaimed Mikaela as the engine rumbled behind her.

"Here we go," said Stefan and pulled out of the parking lot.

---

"Oh yeah! Now this is the proper way to ride home. Mom’s car feels way too soft and quiet," said Mikaela over the rumble of the Aventador’s V12 engine, as they drove towards the streets of Pine Springs.

"Like father like daughter. Ivan loves his BMW as well," chuckled Stefan.

"I’ll ask him to take me for a ride in it on his next visit," said Mikaela.

"Well, here we are," said Stefan pulling over and handing Mikaela the house key.

"Would you like to come in?" asked Mikaela as she took the keys from him.

"Nah, I’ll get home and check on Anna. She’s in her rebellious phase, so I’d better hurry and see if she’s trashed anything," chuckled Stefan.

"OK, bye Mr. Stanislaus," said Mikaela, and Stefan drove off.