“Hey, hey,” he whispered, gesturing his chin toward the poster. “They’re laughing at me.” “Oh, that’s Beyoncé,” I said. “She wouldn’t laugh at you. She would never, ever—” “No, they’re making fun of me.” I took the poster down, turned it around on the floor to face the wall. The next day, he asked me what happened to his poster. “Oh, it must have fallen,” I said, putting it back up.
