“You’re showing off now,” Toby said.
I grinned.“Maybe a little.”Though I didn’t want to admit that all this was pure luck on my part.I usually did pretty badly with these kinds of games.
“Definitely a little,” Toby said, his next ring actually making it into a yellow one.He grinned big and turned to me.“Now we’re cooking.”
We tossed the rest of our rings.When my last ring landed short of the buoy, I shrugged, a small rush of warmth rising through me.“Almost.”
“Almost still counts,” Justin said quietly.“Sometimes the try’s the best part.”
Toby bumped my shoulder.“Look at you, professional philanthropist.”
“Don’t call me that.”
He grinned.“Fine.Basketball prodigy-slash-ring-toss champion-slash-hope dealer.”
Bryan sighed dramatically.“Someone take his sugar intake away before he starts rhyming.”
Justin chuckled, checking off the donations on his clipboard.“You guys added a nice amount to Havenway’s donations.We appreciate your successes.”
“Good,” I said.“They can afford it.”
We lingered for a while, talking and laughing while watching others make their own attempts.There was someone who was able to get the red buoy so that was a fun celebration.
After a while, Toby and Bryan decided to check out an event near the courtyard and Justin was called back to run the next hour of a Sink or Swim challenge.I told them I’d meet up later and headed to where the official Hope’s Embrace Foundation table was set up.
The closer I got, the calmer the energy felt.Laughter still floated through the air from the games nearby, but this corner carried a different kind of warmth.It was quiet and calming.
The table was decorated with lavender and gold ribbons, pamphlets about music therapy and support programs fanned neatly across the front.A speaker played soft instrumental piano, familiar notes from one of the songs I’d written for them.The melody lingered, tugging at my chest.
The table was filled with handmade bracelets, little jars of lavender balm, and folded cards painted by kids who’d gone through Hope’s Embrace art therapy programs.Each one carried a message in looping handwriting:
“You are enough.”
“Keep your light.”
“The world is better because you’re here.”
A hand-painted sign rested at the front:
Donate $2 – Take a Message of Hope
All proceeds fund creative therapy supplies for local shelters and hospitals.
People filtered by, donating money and picking out bracelets or cards.Every so often, someone would pause to read one of the messages aloud and smile.Helping at the booth, seeing some of the rawest reactions to the messages, was only a reminder that while people looked like they were happy or living a good healthy life, there was no real way of knowing what they were going through.This was more about being abused behind closed doors, but also depression, health issues, and even the stress of their daily lives.
“Hey, Cadence,” one of the volunteers said.She was a kind-faced girl named Rachel, a sophomore at the school.“We’re running low on bracelets.”
“I can restock them,” I said, kneeling to grab another box from beneath the tablecloth.The lavender scent filled the air.
Rachel grinned.“People really like the cards this year.Especially the ones with lyrics.”
My stomach tightened.“Lyrics?”
“Yeah.”She handed me one.On the front was a painted sunrise, the brushstrokes uneven but full of feeling.Inside, in careful handwriting that made my breath catch, were words to the lyrics I’d written in the past:
“When the dark feels louder than your name,
And the quiet starts to sting,
