This is where your weapon lives. Right here. Everything I taught you, it's all in there now. And when the time comes, you use it. Not to hurt anyone, but to make them see you.
Really see you. Grandma, promise me. I promise. Loretta smiled. It was tired, but it was real.
3 days later, she was gone. The memory dissolved. Amara opened her eyes. She was back in the lounge, sitting on the floor, her backpack in her lap. Her throat felt tight.
Nobody in this room knew who Loretta Hayes was. Nobody knew what she taught. Nobody knew that the woman who died in a hospital bed because she couldn't afford treatment had once been one of the first black women to graduate from Juilliard's composition program. Nobody knew she'd trained a boy named Daniel Carter who went on to become the CEO of the network that owned this very show. But Amara knew.
And tonight that knowledge was going to matter.
The first night after her grandmother died, Amara thought someone would help her. She was 14 years old, standing on the corner of 125th Street with everything she owned crammed into a backpack that cut into her shoulders. The guitar case hung from her other hand, heavy enough to make her arm ache. It was November, cold enough that she could see her breath in white puffs. She'd spent the afternoon at the apartment, her apartment, though it wasn't anymore watching the landlord change the locks.
He'd been nice about it, at least let her take her time packing. Even said he was sorry. But sorry, didn't change the fact that the rent was 2 months overdue and nobody was left to pay it. "You got family?" he'd asked. She had shaken her head.
"Friends?" another shake. He'd pressed his lips together, looking uncomfortable. "There's shelters. I can give you some addresses." "I'm fine," she'd said, "because what else could she say?" Now, standing on the street, as the sun went down and the temperature dropped, she realized she had no idea what fine meant anymore. She started walking.
No destination, just movement. Because standing still felt like giving up. The city looked different at night when you had nowhere to go. The lights seemed brighter, harsher. Every storefront was locked.
Every doorway held someone else who'd run out of options. Men with cardboard signs. Women wrapped in trash bags for warmth. Kids not much older than her with eyes that had gone flat. She walked for hours.