Rochelle wanted to fix the hair then, reach for the puff, perform care with her hands. She waited. "May I?"
Novah considered. "Yes. But don't make it look like Tiana's. Make it look like mine."
Rochelle's eyes stung. She smoothed the edges of the puff with gentle fingers, pinned a loosening curl, and did not add rhinestones or ribbons or anything that would turn Novah into a smaller copy of the evening's preferred silhouette. When she finished, Novah still looked like Novah—bright, serious, nine—and the roses looked right against navy.
"There," Rochelle whispered. "Student of the Year."
Novah did not say thank you. She leaned, briefly, her temple against her mother's cheek, and then stood up straight again.
V.
Corbin Prentiss Facetimed from a hotel in Lagos at 5:41 local time for him, which made it afternoon confusion and evening clarity for them. His face filled Rochelle's phone in the corridor outside the ballroom: tired, warm, a hard hat on the desk behind him.
"Show me the girls," he said.
Rochelle angled the camera. Tiana had returned from photos, shining. Novah held the flowers like a quiet flag.
"My God," Corbin said. "Tiana, you look like a whole fundraising campaign. Novah—are those for you?"
"Student of the Year," Novah said.
Corbin's face broke open in a way Rochelle's had not managed on the porch. "That's my scholar. Read me the title again."
"Lower School Student of the Year," Novah said, and this time she smiled, small and real. "Dr. Bellamy brought the flowers early."
"Tell Keisha I owe her dinner when I'm back," Corbin said. Then, to Rochelle, softer, "You all right? You look like somebody moved the furniture."
Rochelle stepped a few paces away, phone to her ear now, video off. "I said something ugly at home. About who people would watch. About academics being *just*. Keisha walked past Tiana and put the roses in Novah's hands while I still had my proud face on for the wrong daughter."
Corbin was quiet long enough that Rochelle heard hotel air conditioning. "We've talked about this," he said finally. "You love the theater of institutions. I love it too, some days. But Novah doesn't audition. She builds. If we only clap for the walk, we teach her that building is backup."
"I know."
"Do you?" His voice stayed kind. "Because I've watched you buy three dresses for one Ambassador night and one dress for a child who has been carrying a 4.0 and a pantry schedule since she was eight."
Rochelle closed her eyes. "Don't make me the villain of my own house on a phone call from Nigeria."
"I'm not making you a villain. I'm asking you not to make Novah a footnote. Fix what you can tonight. Don't demand a clean ending before you've done unclean work."