Troy didn’t let the heckling faze him. “That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said, pumping his index finger in the air. “Not everyone is as lucky as I was.” He looked the boy straight in the eye. “I know many of you have had a tough life, that foster homes can often be filled with more kids than the adults can give their full attention to.”
A grumbling agreement ran through the room.
“But does that mean you don’t have dreams?” He waited a beat, and then he threw out, “Who has a big dream? If you want to share it.”
Dylan Beck was the first to answer. “I’m going to be a great street artist like San Holo.”
Michaela remembered Gideon talking about Dylan at the gallery, the foster kid who was being mentored by both Gideon and Troy’s brother Clay. Troy had told her more on the way up. The boy’s artwork was phenomenal.
“Tell me how you can make that dream become a reality,” Troy said.
Dylan shrugged, shoving his longish brown hair out of his eyes. “I dunno. I’m just doing it.” His gaze on Gideon, he added softly, “But I have help. Gideon—” He chin-jutted at his mentor. “—and Clay.”
Though Dylan didn’t name-drop, Michaela knew Clay was also in love with Saskia Oliver, the famous San Holo. Now Dylan had her in his corner too.
Troy said, “They believe in you wholeheartedly, don’t they?”
Dylan nodded, then he grinned at Gideon. “Yeah. They do.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Troy said, his gaze moving slowly over the group of young people. “My family was my support system. But here’s something important you all need to know. You can create your own support system, people who believe in your dream, people who believe in you.”
The burly boy snorted. “And, like, exactly how are we supposed to do that?” Disdain dripped off every word. “You had money. You had a family.”
Troy didn’t let the boy’s animosity stop him. “And you have this place. You have a man like Gideon Jones. You have people here who can be your friends. You have teachers at school. You have your foster family. You probably have coworkers. If you want to believe in yourself, you will attract people who want to believe in you too.” Holding the boy’s gaze, he asked, “What’s your name?”
The boy said, “Nathan.”
“Do you have a dream, Nathan?”
Nathan shook his head viciously. “What’s the point when you come from nothing, when you have nothing, when you will never have anything?”
A wave of sympathy for the young man rushed through Michaela. She wanted to say something that would help him, but she knew Troy would find the right words.
Then Troy turned to her. “I didn’t introduce Michaela Killian over there.” He pointed at her curled against the arm of the sofa. “Do you mind if I tell them a bit about you, Michaela?”
What could she say to that? She shook her head. Maybe her story had something worthwhile for these young people.
“Michaela’s father left them when she was a baby. Her mother had barely graduated from high school. But Flo, her mother, used her talent for sewing to become a seamstress. So you see, Michaela came from pretty much nothing. Her mother worked day and night to provide for them.” What he said was a mix of things she’d told him and what he’d probably learned from Susan. She was sure her mother had told Susan their story.
Nathan snorted again, scornfully.
But again, Troy didn’t let that stop him. “As soon as Michaela was old enough—” He shot her a questioning gaze. “Eight or nine?”
She nodded.
“At eight or nine years old, she began helping her mother. She had a dream even then, and that was to grow up and be able to give her mother all they’d lacked when she was young.”
How had he known that? She’d never told him. But maybe it was there between the lines of all she’d revealed.
“She found a support system. And even at that young age, she helped her mother bring in new clients. She worked hard. When it was time to apply to college, she let nothing stop her. She had a dream, and because she’d built her own support system, with her mother, with people who believed in her as much as she believed in herself, she won a full-ride scholarship to Stanford University. She had no money, but she had a dream.”
Then he asked Michaela directly, “Do you feel you’ve achieved your dream?”
She couldn’t answer with another nod, and she needed Nathan to know her story. “Yes, I do. I worked hard. But I had people who encouraged me, not only my mother, but everyone I went to for help. My friends told their friends and their mothers’ friends about what a great seamstress my mother was so that her business could grow. My teachers encouraged me, and my school counselor helped me write my essay to apply for the scholarship. My friends at college told me they thought I could do anything I put my mind to. All those people believed in me.”
After a warm smile for her, Troy said, “You’ve all heard of FoodFast, right?”
There were nods and murmurs around the room.
