“Mama, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Alright, baby. Have a good day. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
“I love you more,” Monique chirps just as I’m ending the call. I roll my eyes at her.
“How you gone love my mama more than I do?”
She shrugs. “I’m just good like that.”
I wave her off, rounding the desk to meet her at the door. “Is everyone here?”
We move into the hall, and Agent Morgan tracks our synchronized steps down the hall. She’s in charge this morning because Shaw is at a mandatory meeting, and it’s obvious by the way her eyes are constantly moving around the space that she’s taking the job seriously.
“Yes,” Monique confirms, double-checking the list of attendees on her phone. “All mentors and mentees have checked in. Everyone has their name tags and assigned seat.” She presses the button for the elevator, and the doors slide open instantly. “No one skipped out on the catered breakfast, except you,” she says, pressing the button for the first floor.
“I told you I wasn’t hungry.”
“Right, but I still put a sandwich to the side for you. If we’re going to tell these kids they need food to fuel their brains, we have to be prepared to lead by example right?”
“Right,” I agree.
The elevator dings, announcing our arrival on the co-working floor where the first meeting of the Junior Coding Academy is taking place. A swell of blended voices echoes inside the open space and surrounds us, pulling us into the fold like a pair of arms aware of your desperate need for an embrace. I take my time moving around the room, clutching the sandwich Monique shoved into my hands as soon as we were off the elevator but never managing to take a bite because I’m too caught up talking to everyone and listening to the Culture Code employees who volunteered to mentor a kid or two gush abouthow cool it is to be molding the minds that will shape the future of technology.
Since it’s their first time meeting, Nichelle, Monique and I decided today would be all about connection. Every mentor has been seated with the child or children they’ve been tasked with guiding. I’m delighted by the ease with which conversation is flowing at all of the tables except for the one near the front where two girls in clothes that fit a little too tight and smell faintly of cigarette smoke sit with matching sour expressions on their faces as they watch everyone else.
I hadn’t expected Isis and Imani to sign up, and even after I found their names on the registration list and agreed to be their mentor, I refused to let myself get excited because I knew their foster mother bringing them was a long shot. A pleasant kind of shock rolls down my spine as I approach and drop into the open chair between them.
“Why the long faces?”
“Mrs. Taylor!” Isis, who’s on my right, squeals wrapping her arms around my neck in a hug that screams familiarity. I return her affection with no hesitation, delighted to find that holding her feels like holding AJ used to. It’s an innocent, pure exchange of energy that leaves no room for the awkwardness I usually associate with physical contact from anyone outside of my small circle, and when Imani joins in, that perfect feeling doubles.
When they’re both back in their seats, Imani sticks her tongue out at her sister. “I told you she’d be here.”
Isis rolls her eyes. “Itoldyoushe’d be here.”
“You were hoping to see me?”
“Of course! We wanted to thank you for standing up for us with Mama Jo,” Isis says, eyes dropping to her hands in her lap. “No one ever does that.”
There it is again, that swell of anger and protective instinct flaring in my gut, making me burn with the desire to knockJoanna West upside the head. Reaching over, I lift Isis’s chin, splitting a serious, but hopefully, nurturing look between them as I let it go.
“I wish I could have done more. You two worked so hard on Hope’s Map, and that moment shouldn’t have been overshadowed by chores.” I bite my lip when I realize how that might sound and then add, “Tending to your responsibilities at home is important, but sometimes our responsibility to ourselves has to take precedence. The only thing you two should have been required to do after that pitch was pat yourselves on the back and eat your favorite dessert.”
They grin at that, and warmth spreads through my chest, prompting me to make a promise I hope Joanna won’t stop me from keeping. “When we win this Congressional App Challenge, we’ll have a proper celebration.”
“We?” Isis asks.
“Yes, we.” I waggle my brows at her. “Unless you want someone else to be your mentor?”
“Hel—I mean, heck no,” Imani says, shaking her head wildly. Isis joins in, and soon their heads are a lovely blur of enthusiasm. I absolutely adore how excited they are about the prospect of learning from me, but I can’t accept their answer without making sure they have a full understanding of the overlap between their lives and mine.
“Before you officially say yes, there’s something you should know.”
Disappointment wrestles with the remnants of exhilaration for control of their features.
Imani is the first to surrender, defeat evident in her words when she asks, “What is it?”
