“That’s Reign.” Marisol came up behind me. “They/them pronouns, extremely unsupportive family. I won’t say more, but that part’s no secret. I’m sure you’ll get to know them since they’re here every day. Sometimes we can get Reign into an activity, usually art, but mostly they just sort of sit.”
“That’s so sad,” I whispered. Then put my hand over my mouth. I doubted Reign would welcome my pity.
“It’s okay,” Marisol said. “At least they’re here, which is much safer than out there. And besides, there’s always a chance things will improve. Maybe they can make a friend or find something they enjoy doing.”
I hmphed. “Yeah, I remember. Rosa always used to say, ‘Have a growth mindset.Las cosas siempre pueden mejorar.’If nothing else, Reign is getting Rosa clucking over them like a mother hen.”
“Rosa is busy, but she makes time to talk to Reign every day. So do I.” Marisol swung her hair over her shoulder. “Maybe after a while, you will too. They could use more people.”
“I’d like that.”
Back in the day, I’d been a decent volunteer. But as much as I wanted to connect with these kids, I’d cut myself off from the world they inhabited. I didn’t want to claim credibility I no longer had.
“Don’t worry about it right now.” Marisol bopped me on the back with the ancient iPad she used to check the kids in. “You’ll figure out your groove.”
I nodded. She was right. Even if I couldn't connect with the kids on the same level as the rest of the staff here, I could still help the Center in my own way. I just had to find a few million dollars.
The elementary kids arrived a short time later, and the building was divided into two sections, with the younger kids occupying one side and the older kids the other. Since there was only one gym, they rotated through it. Everyone received a healthy serving of baked ziti with apple slices for a snack. I spent the afternoon wandering from room to room, getting a feel for the spaces and the activities.
Watching the staff interact with the kids, especially the mindful way they handled behavior issues, made me optimistic that the Center could be saved. Potential funders only needed to see this magic. They’d want to support it.
I knew many of the program participants dealt with serious challenges in life—socioeconomic hardship, criminal or gang-affiliated family members, relatives who were imprisoned, housing instability, or drug-addicted parents like my mom had been. Still, an overwhelming sense of optimism permeated theair. One wall was filled with plaques of Center kids and their colleges. I found my name on the list of students who’d attended the University of Washington. Other spaces were lined with pictures of former participants in their various adult jobs, from stockbroker to teacher to auto mechanic, as well as one ’90s-era city councilperson from Everett. No matter the circumstances of their lives, good things happened for kids inside these walls.
I had to help Rosa save it.
Doing my second turn up and down the halls, I stopped to watch a group of elementary kids with the guitar teacher struggle through the world’s most adorable rendition of Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds.”
That was when an older teen came tearing down the hall. He smashed his fists against the bulletin boards and ripped down posters as he went.
At the front door, he shouted into the atrium, “Fuck you and fuck this place!” Before shoving his way out, he turned around and raised both hands in a double middle finger salute. “See you later, assholes!”
I froze, mildly stunned. Marisol came up on my right side. “Oh, hey, Cori. I didn’t realize you were still here.” She noticed my eyes trained on the teen now running out onto the sidewalk. “Don’t worry about Jayden,” she said. “He has meltdowns like that once a week at least. He’ll be okay.”
I couldn’t believe how casual she sounded.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Chuck called him for a couple of fouls in the 3-on-3 tournament. He disagreed.”
She and everyone else in the building seemed unconcerned by Jayden’s outburst, so I took my cues from them. It had been a while since I’d existed in a world where teenagers hurling obscenities wasn’t a genuine cause for alarm.
I had once gotten frustrated in a meeting early in my career at JBC and accidentally tossed the pen I’d been tapping across the conference table. One of our analysts looked at me in horror, as though I’d flung a vial of pig’s blood and not a ten-cent Bic. Later, she informed me she had Midol in her purse if I needed it. I'd smiled and thanked her, and it was the last time I displayed any strong emotions at work.
I bet that analyst had gone to a high school with working drinking fountains.
“It’s getting quiet,” I observed, realizing it was past six. Most of the kids had left or gotten picked up by their families.
“Yeah, we’re almost closed. Come to think of it, it’s a good thing you’re still here.” Marisol looked side to side before grabbing my arm and pulling me toward a corner. “Rosa is in the office on the phone with Lupe. Since we have a minute, I want to talk to you about something I’d rather she didn’t hear.”
Her tone had my spine tensing. “Alright. What’s up?”
“Look, I didn’t want to burden her with this, but Chuck told me a few days ago that we need to deal with some building things.”
“What do you mean ‘building things’?”
“I mean, we’ve been putting off some maintenance projects, but Chuck and I don’t think we can any longer.”
I glanced around. The facility was certainly old and showing some wear and tear, but it was a youth center, not a five-star hotel. Some dinginess was to be expected. “What kind of projects?”
