She had not forbidden her either.
Friday night Rochelle stood outside Nia’s bedroom.
“Can I ask something?”
Nia did not look away from her laptop.
“You just did.”
Rochelle almost smiled.
Then:
“Do you want me there tomorrow?”
Nia’s fingers stopped.
She stared at the screen.
“I don't know.”
Rochelle nodded.
“I’ll respect that.”
Nia looked toward her.
Her mother appeared smaller than she used to.
Not physically.
Certainty had left her.
Nia asked:
“Would you have come if Dr. Carter never found the trust?”
Rochelle closed her eyes.
“I don’t know.”
Wrong answer.
Nia looked away.
Rochelle corrected herself.
“No.”
Nia stared.
Her mother continued:
“I was planning to decline.”
The honesty hurt.
Better than uncertainty.
Rochelle said:
“I was going to tell myself I did it because of scheduling.”
“I was going to tell myself you could apply next year.”
“I was going to tell myself twenty-five thousand wasn’t guaranteed.”
Nia’s eyes filled.
“But really I was afraid they’d ask for the account statements.”
“Yes.”
Rochelle nodded.
“I’m sorry.”
Nia swallowed.
“Do you want to come now?”
“Yes.”
“Because you got caught?”
Rochelle took time.
“Partly.”
That surprised Nia.
Her mother continued:
“Because I am trying to stop lying when the honest answer makes me look bad.”
Nia almost smiled.
Therapy language.
Rochelle had started individual counseling immediately after the school meeting.
Nia knew because Kayla complained that Mom now said things like “I need to sit with that.”
“Can you sit in the back?”
Rochelle’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“No pictures of me before.”
“Okay.”
“And don’t tell everybody you helped with the project.”
A tear slid down Rochelle’s cheek.
“Okay.”
Nia looked at her.
“You can come.”
“Thank you.”
Rochelle left before crying harder.
The science center ballroom held twelve stations.
Projects ranged from low-cost wildfire sensors to a machine-learning tool that detected reading difficulties.
Nia’s water-system project suddenly felt simple.
She panicked.
Camille noticed.
“What's wrong?”
“They’re better.”
“You read twelve titles.”
“The wildfire girl built a drone.”
“Very dramatic.”
“She’s fourteen.”
“So?”
“I have plastic pipes.”
Camille looked at her.
“Then explain why plastic pipes matter.”
Nia stared.
Her aunt continued:
“Your father used to say engineers get in trouble when they fall in love with impressive solutions instead of useful ones.”
Nia smiled.
“He said that?”
“All the time.”
“You never told me.”
“You never asked.”
Nia frowned.
Camille touched her shoulder.
“See? Adults don't know which stories kids need until kids tell us.”
That sentence stayed with her.
At five-forty, Rochelle entered.
Alone.
She sat in the last row.
Nia saw her.
Did not wave.
Rochelle did not wave either.
Good.
At six-ten Nia began her presentation.
Her hands shook through the first slide.
Then she reached the demonstration.
Water moved through clear pipes.
One hidden valve created a simulated leak.
The acoustic sensors changed vibration patterns.
Her laptop displayed an alert.
“Most school systems cannot afford continuous commercial leak monitoring,” Nia explained.
“But inexpensive sensors already exist.”
“The problem is integration.”
She spoke faster.
Then steadier.
“This prototype costs less than sixty dollars.”