I nod. “We have an annual charity ball. The Senior Snowflake Charity Ball; it’s tomorrow, actually—”
“Perfect! Just perfect!” Ms. Donovan says, writing something down on a notepad.
“You want us to go to the ball and do what exactly?” Devon asks. Still snippy, still rude. I wonder what’s up with him. I know he wasn’tentirely convinced that we should talk to this journalist, but he’s here. He didn’t have to come.
Ms. Donovan remains unbothered by his tone.
“Give a speech, tell them how you feel, what they’ve done to you; let us catch it on camera and broadcast it on every TV in every state in America. We’ll bring security, of course, make sure you guys are safe. Sound like a good plan to you?” she asks.
I nod. It sounds like a brilliant plan.
The sort of explosive ending we need if we want to take Niveus down and restore any hope in becoming who we’re meant to become.
“Good,” Ms. Donovan says with a wide smile. “Let’s talk strategy.”
37
DEVON
Wednesday
We get to Terrell’s at around four o’clock.
The entire drive back, Chiamaka wouldn’t shut up about how excited she is about tomorrow and everything we now have in store for Niveus, with this new plan the journalist came up with.
A plan she has full confidence in. The meeting made her feel more secure in the idea that we stand a chance. It made my doubts even worse.
The plan is complicated and risky. I don’t want to put my trust in something so dangerous. But even if I decide not to join in, she’ll still go through with it.
And I can’t let her do that alone. She might get herself killed. I don’t think I could live with myself if I knew I could have prevented it in some way.
We were originally going to go back to Chiamaka’s place, but I told her I wanted to be dropped off at Terrell’s and she agreed, told me she wanted to tell him about the plan and how successful today was (in her opinion). Weirdly, they seem to get along.
Terrell’s bright-red door looks gloomier in the rain. I can hearTerrell moving about inside. The lock sounds and the door opens wide.
Terrell is standing there in his gray jogging pants, aBlack Panthershirt, and his signature dimples.
“Come in, we can go up to my room,” Terrell says as Chiamaka steps in, immediately climbing the steps.
“Hey,” Terrell says with a smile.
“Hi,” I say, smiling back at him.
“Did it all go okay at the news station?” he asks.
I shrug. “Chiamaka’s happy.”
As if on cue, Chiamaka is shouting, “Are you guys coming or not?”
“We’d better go up,” Terrell says, and I nod, following him up to his room. When we get inside, Chiamaka is seated on his bed, scrolling through her phone, so I sit next to her. When Terrell walks in, he sits opposite us, on the chair next to his desk.
“How’d it go?” he asks.
“It went well, we have a solid plan. I know it’s going to work, I can just feel it,” she says.
She seems so certain. Almost naively so. But then again, she is smart, and she is apparently the rational one. So maybe I’m wrong.
“So, what’s the plan?” Terrell asks, swiveling the chair side to side with his foot.
