Mr. Jackson pushes his glasses up again, shaking his head. “No, ma’am. We figured the less you know beforehand the better. This way the score given to the presentation is based solely on what is said on the stage.”
“Interesting. Did you at least have them prepare pitch decks to be given out afterwards?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He pulls a few papers from the top of the stack between us, sitting some in front of me and some in front of him. “They’ll be available to you through my office.”
Satisfied, I nod and offer him a genuine smile. The CAC is a great initiative, but it’s still young and relatively unknown. That means a lot of the work to put together events like this falls on the shoulders of the individual district representatives. Not many take the kind of initiative Mr. Jackson has to provide support to the participants. It’s actually inspiring.
“The work you’ve put into this day is admirable,” I tell him, watching him light up.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Please, call me Selene.”
“Selene,” he repeats, testing out the syllables hesitantly.
“May I call you Reed?”
“Ye-yes, of course,” he stammers, nodding enthusiastically.
“Perfect. Reed, how were you planning to reward the kids for their participation today?”
Perplexed, he glances around the room like the answer is hidden in the walls somewhere. “Umm, I wasn’t?”
He winces, and we share a laugh. His is nervous and full of self-consciousness. Mine is pure amusement because of course he thought exposure and experience was enough to make this event worthwhile.
“Guess I should have thought that through, huh?”
“I mean, not having a reward certainly hasn’t hurt your turn out at all,” I say. “But I think it’d be nice to give them something. As you so wisely pointed out in your speech earlier, they are giving up a day of their summer break to be here. Not to mention the time they spent preparing.”
“Right. You’re absolutely right.” Slight panic has taken over his features. “Do you have any suggestions?”
My answer is immediate. “You can never go wrong with tech when it comes to kids like this.” As I start to rattle off items I would have killed for as a child, Reed flips over one of the rubrics and scribbles it all down, handing the list off to the closest member of his team with instructions to secure the circled items before the end of the day.
“We should probably make an announcement about the prizes” Reed says. “I’m sure it’ll give them an extra boost before they get on the stage.”
“Absolutely,” I agree, fighting the urge to make another suggestion and losing. “Before you do, I’d like to add something to the list.”
“Oh, okay, let me just—” he stands, preparing to call back or go after the young woman he just sent off.
“Not to the actual list,” I clarify, standing as well. Reed’s head swings back in my direction, and I feel bad for confusing him. “The new laptop and NAS DiskStation will go over beautifully with the winners, but those are just two items and we’ve got fifty kids here. I think it would be beneficial to offer something everyone can take advantage of regardless of if their pitch is chosen or not.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“A spot in my company’s junior coding academy.”
The idea started to take root the moment I walked into this room and saw it filled with the faces of the future of my chosen field. It sprouted into possibility when I heard Reed’s speech about his responsibility to the children of his constituency and immediately began to think about what my obligation was to them and why I hadn’t considered how to fulfill it sooner.
He tilts his head to he side, brow furrowed. “Culture Code has a junior coding academy?”
“It will by the end of the day,” I promise him, knowing that Monique will get Nichelle on it as soon as I send in the request.
She’ll probably be thrilled to see me using my company email for something other than declining meetings and scolding her for sending me links to the many interviews Sutton’s parents have done in the weeks since her death. There’s never anything else in the emails, just the links and layers upon layers of subtext that ask why I believe the Ellsworths won’t speak with me if they’re making a point of talking to everyone else.
Reed doesn’t question my assertion. He just nods and takes to the stage one more time, hyping up the crowd with the news of the prizes. Of course, they’re more excited about the computer and data storage system than anything else, but there’s cheers of appreciation for the coding academy too, which is good enough for me. I don’t expect them to see the value of a freshly formedthought, but I know when it’s all said and done, they’ll be grateful for the opportunity.
As Reed takes his seat, I hit send on the email to Monique and turn my phone face down, giving the stage my full attention. Some of the presentations fly by while others seem to drag on so long I find myself praying for the end long before it ever comes. The kids are a mix between overly confident and a ball of nerves stumbling over their words, and while they all try their best to, none of them are able to command the stage the way a person has to in order to make the world believe in what they’ve built.
The line has dwindled significantly. Instead of watching the last few groups fidget their way to the stage, I direct my attention to sorting through the rubrics I’ve already completed in hopes of finding some viable contenders for the winner’s circle while Reed’s assistant, Olive, reads off more names.
