and printed ID stickers out
for us once we’d posed for photos.
“Shall we go to year four first?” the headteacher asked. “That’s Chase’s class.”
“Sure.”
I hung back, out of sight, as the headteacher knocked on the door to the year four classroom.
“Good morning, Mr King. I hope you don’t mind me disturbing your lesson,” the headteacher said. “I have a
special guest I thought the class might like to meet.”
“Yes, of course.” Mr King sounded confused, which was to be expected if none of the staff had been briefed.
The headteacher motioned to me, and I wandered into the classroom, followed by Greg. The class let out a
collective gasp as thirty eight- and nine-year-old shifters stared at me.
“Uncle Charlie!” Chase cried out, leaping to his feet.
“Sit down,” Mr King said.
“Sorry,” Chase mumbled before sitting down, head bowed.
“Are you really Chase’s uncle?” a little omega sitting at the front of the class asked.
“We put our hands up to ask questions, Luca,” Mr King said.
“Yes, I am.”
“Charlie has come to answer a few questions and to do some singing with you all,” the headteacher explained.
There was another round of gasps. I grabbed a spare adult-size chair and sat backwards on it, resting my arms
on the back.
“Shall we do questions first?” I asked.
The children nodded eagerly.
“Who’s first?”
Everyone’s hands shot up. I wasn’t going to be able to answer every question, so I picked someone at random.
“What’s your favourite colour?”
I grinned. Kids asked far better questions than reporters. “Blue. What’s yours?”
The young alpha I’d asked flapped his mouth open and shut. Clearly, he hadn’t expected me to fire his question
back at him. “I like blue too,” he said eventually.
I picked someone else to ask a question.
“Have your eyes always been different colours?”
“Yes.”
“That’s so cool!”
“Do you know what it’s called when someone has eyes that are two different colours?”
The omega shook his head.
“Heterochromia.”
The whole class repeated it back to me.
“That’s right. Now you can go home and impress your parents with a new fact. Next question?” I picked another
omega.
“What’s your favourite food?”
I grinned. “Chocolate-chip muffins. What’s yours?”
“Bananas,” he whispered as though he was embarrassed.
“You’re much healthier than me. Oh! I should make a batch of banana bread or banana muffins.”
“You bake?” someone asked.
“Hands up,” Mr King reminded the class. “And wait to be asked.”
I wanted to say I didn’t mind, but I wasn’t going to undermine the teacher’s authority. “I do. I love baking. Maybe I
could come again another day and show you all how to make and decorate cupcakes?’
“Yes, please!” the class chorused.
“I’ll talk to your headteacher and arrange it. Next question?”
I answered a dozen more questions, and then we sang some songs together. They weren’t too awful, although I
would have preferred it if my hearing wasn’t so sensitive. By the time the headteacher was making eyes towards
the door, they were actually singing pretty well in tune, with some harmonies. When the singing lesson drew to a
close, I posed for a photo with the whole class. I made a point of giving Chase a hug before I left just to really
hammer home the point that he was my nephew. I doubted anyone would ever accuse him of lying again.
We went to the year two class next, who were even giddier over my arrival. Jonas couldn’t contain himself at all.
He ran right up to me and flung his arms around me.
“You came!” he squealed. “You really came!”
I ruffled his hair. “I told you I would, didn’t I? Now go and sit down before you get into trouble.”
His teacher was younger than Mr King and seemed considerably more laid-back. I answered another set of
equally random questions, did more singing—year two could have beaten year four in a sing-off—and posed for
another whole-class photo.
At lunch, Greg and I were given the option of having food in the headmaster’s office, but I opted to sit in the dining
hall with the kids. I thought most of them spent more time gawping at me than eating. I chatted to as many
people as I could—children, teachers, and dinner staff alike—and then went out onto the school playground and
kicked a ball around with Chase and his friends.
By the time Greg and I left, there were some reporters at the gate, but I walked past them all, refusing to
comment on my visit.
“You’re a natural with kids,” Greg said once we were in the car and had pulled away from the school and the
reporters.
“I don’t think that’s true.”
He glanced at
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