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Group of diverse children with different hairstyles standing together, smiling under a bright sky.
My name is Nyema, and I love my locs. They bounce when I walk and dance when I run. They feel like me.
In the bright paint-splattered classroom, Ms. Lila stands near the window smiling gently, hands together. Across a row of easels, Nyema raises one trembling hand, sunlight striping her face and jars of color.
Ms. Lila clapped for attention. "Who spilled the paint?" she asked kindly. The room buzzed. Nyema raised her hand, heart thumping. "It was me, and I'm sorry," she said, looking up.
At the mural wall inside the afternoon classroom, Nyema sweeps a brush to form a vivid blue river while Ms. Lila crouches beside her, beaming. Other students cheer in the background amid paint carts and dangling paper lanterns.
Ms. Lila smiled. "Thank you for telling the truth," she said. "Let's turn this into something beautiful." Classmates cheered, and Nyema led strokes that shaped a bright river. Everyone painted together.
Morning light filters across the classroom, where the finished mural glistens and a blue ribbon hangs beside it. Ms. Lila rests a proud hand on Nyema's shoulder as the girl grins up at the shimmering river path.
The mural dried into a shimmering river path, now everyone's favorite. A blue ribbon appeared beside it. "Your honesty saved this project," Ms. Lila told Nyema. Nyema grinned, feeling taller inside.