Somehow hearing those words the last two days from a dozen adults couldn’t top the overwhelming rush of pride she felt when Devon said them.
“Thanks,” she said, surprised to feel her face heat. “Well, I brought you a bunch more so you can have them for your family, maybe give them to other people you think should read about this?”
“Awesome.”
Rebecca took a breath. “So I’ve been thinking.”
“You want to do more articles. About the program.” Devon nodded. “I think that’s a great idea.”
She laughed again. This kid was something else!
“Yes, Devon, that’s exactly what I was going to suggest. The article went over well and made for a nice front page, but more importantly, the story resonated with our readers. I think we have the chance to do some real good here.”
“I think so, too. Mama always said shining the light keeps the darkness out.”
Rebecca thought about that, nodded slowly. “I think your mama was right. So, do you know anyone who might talk to me? Maybe we can weave some of their lives in as we do a series on the program, how it’s making an impact.”
“I was thinking.” Devon scratched his chin like he was deep in thought. “Could you let them tell their stories, one by one? Like, a story a week? And at the end of it all you could do some big article about how the summer went?”
She sat back, visualized it. That might be brilliant. She considered the implications—how the stories would look on a page, how she might tie in an editorial, even a photo page midway through.
“You think they’d do it?”
“I think so. Maybe if you gave them a gift card or something, not much, like five bucks or whatever, it’d help.”
Five bucks wasn’t much. She would’ve done it for five bucks when she was a kid.
“Yeah,” she said, deciding. The excitement began to build. “Yeah, I think we can do that. We could change their names, some of the details to protect their privacy. Run some photos from time to time. Maybe a few voices from the volunteers. But yes, I like this. A lot.”
She made her face look serious a moment. “But there’s one catch.”
“What?” Devon gave her a guarded look.
“I need your voice in there, too. This program was your idea. People like hearing stories from the visionary, too, not just the people who are getting the help. So once a week, I wonder if you and I can meet around four or so, and maybe I can take you for burgers and shakes, and I can interview you.”
Devon shrugged, but his eyes sparked. “Sure. That’d be great! So …” He gestured to the hall behind him. “Want me to start talking to the kids, see who might wanna do it? I can even pass out some of those waiver forms if you give me some.”
Rebecca laughed again, feeling light years more relaxed than she’d been in a week. Like a kid, almost. Being around Devon Robinson made her feel good. She wasn’t sure why—maybe it was because he was an oddball, like her, or maybe it was encountering someone who could relate to her drive and passion.
In fact, she realized that for the first time in ages, other than when she was with Granny, she wasn’t playing “Social Rebecca” anymore—that trained bright smile and let’s-do-business handshake. She was smiling her real smile at him, the kind that stretched her face and exposed all her teeth.
“Devon Robinson,” she pronounced, shaking her head. “You seriously are the most ‘together’ person I think I’ve ever met.”
He smiled. “I like you too, Miss Becca.”
“So,” she said conspiratorially, crossing her legs on the bench to match his. “Want to grab those burgers this afternoon?”
CHAPTER 16
Devon
After camp that afternoon, Devon walked the long corridor from the classrooms toward the front office. His blue backpack was heavier now, with his books from the program wedged next to six cans of something Miz Johnna from the cafeteria had tucked in, after Devon had helped her stock the shelves in the lunchroom. He’d gotten to go inside the kitchen doors all the way to the back room to do the work, sent by Miss Becca’s Granny because Miz Johnna was getting up there in age and didn’t need to be lifting in her condition.
While they’d worked, Miz Johnna had kept up a steady stream of chatter about her grandkids and the collards and oven-baked mac-and-cheese she’d be fixing that weekend when they came to visit. Had talked so long about it that by the time they were done his tummy was growling and he was starting to get hunger pains for real when he remembered that afternoon, and the burger and shake Miss Becca would be buying him.
All for sharing his story.
He’d write the story himself for the burger and shake, but she didn’t need to know that, and besides, she was nice. He liked beingwith her. When he talked about the kids at camp and his Mama and the stuff at church, she listened to him with her whole self, like he mattered. Like Rev and Marla listened. And once a week? That was almost too good to believe in.
