"HELP!"
A desperate voice rang out from the edge of the road, cutting through the bustling noise of the street. People turned, curious, and began to gather, their eyes drawn to the sight of a boy collapsed on the pavement.
Next to him, a girl with locs knelt, her hands shaking as she tried to shake him awake, her voice rising in panic.
"Please! Help him! Someone call 911!" she cried, her voice trembling with fear as tears streamed down her face. A small crowd formed around them, murmuring amongst themselves. Some reached for their phones to call for help, while others just stared, unsure of what to do. The boy lay still, pale and unresponsive, as the girl's cries became more frantic.
"What happened to him?" someone from the crowd asked, but no one had an answer.
Then, suddenly, the low purr of a sleek black Mercedes caught everyone's attention. The car pulled up to the scene smoothly, stopping right by the boy and the distraught girl.
The window rolled down to reveal a girl with striking blonde hair, her expression sharp and commanding. She looked to be about the same age as the boy and girl on the ground, but her presence was unmistakably dominant.
"Get him in the car, now!" the blonde girl ordered, her voice firm and urgent. She locked eyes with the girl kneeling beside the boy, and without a word, the girl with locs scrambled to comply. There was no hesitation—these two clearly knew each other.
Some of the onlookers, sensing the urgency, rushed to help. Together, they carefully lifted the boy's limp body, moving with caution as they placed him into the backseat of the Mercedes. His head lolled slightly to the side, and the girl with locs, her hands trembling, moved to get in the car with him.
But just as she reached for the door handle, the blonde girl's voice cut through the air again, cold and unyielding.
"You. Out," she snapped, pointing directly at the girl with locs. Her tone left no room for negotiation.
The girl with locs froze, her hand still on the door, before slowly backing away, her heart sinking. She didn't argue. She stepped back, watching as the blonde girl slammed the door shut and sped off without another word, the boy's unconscious body now in her care.
The car's tail lights flickered briefly before disappearing down the road, leaving behind a trail of dust and confusion.
The girl with locs stood there for a moment, stunned, feeling the weight of the situation press down on her. Her chest heaved with a mixture of frustration and helplessness. She glanced down and noticed her glasses lying on the ground, one lens cracked. She bent down, picking them up, and used the hem of her lace top to wipe away the dirt.
"Shit," she muttered under her breath as she inspected the crack, though she slid the glasses back onto her face anyway.
Taking a deep breath, she turned to the crowd, which was already beginning to disperse.
"It's okay, everyone," she called out, forcing a smile. "He's getting help. You can all go now. Everything's fine."
The crowd, slowly accepting her words, drifted back to their daily routines, but the girl with locs couldn't shake the nagging sense of unease that lingered in the pit of her stomach. Was he really safe?
As summer came to an end, it marked the beginning of a new school year for the students at Brainpoint High. The air had a crispness to it, and while many students anticipated a fresh start, Ayo Debiri's alarm going off at 5:00 a.m. was a harsh reminder of the dread she carried about returning.
For her, this day didn't bring the usual excitement that came with new school supplies, outfits, and the thrill of seeing friends. It meant another year of bracing herself for the torment of bullying, a torment she'd endured since she first set foot in Brainpoint High.
From day one, Ayo had been ridiculed, starting with comments about her hair and her clothing. She'd recently embarked on her loc journey, and her mom had warned her that it might attract unwanted attention.
"People around here don't always appreciate Black excellence," her mom had said, a mix of pride and concern in her voice. Ayo had tried to prepare herself, but no warning could truly prepare her for the cruel comments about how her baby locs looked like "tiny worms" or how out of place she felt in her mostly white school.
This morning, as Ayo stood in front of her mirror, she glanced at her "Black Girl Magic" t-shirt. Her mom had bought it for her, and despite Ayo's protests that "no one wore this stuff anymore," she'd kept it because it held a deeper meaning. It was more than just a slogan; it was a reminder of her strength, her heritage, and her beauty, even when the world around her tried to make her feel small. Ayo felt a wave of pride wash over her. Sure, the teasing and bullying would likely continue, but at least she'd be walking in with her head held high—wearing a piece of herself.
After shaking off her morning grogginess, she stepped into the shower, relishing the feel of the warm water against her skin. Showers were her sanctuary, a place where she could pause, breathe, and let go of the tension that seemed to have taken permanent residence in her body. Today, especially, she needed that moment to center herself.
When she finished, Ayo brushed her teeth, splashed her face with cold water, and returned to her bedroom. She gave herself one more glance in the mirror and smiled. Her locs, once short and awkward, now stretched to her shoulders, a testament to her patience and commitment to her natural hair. She reached for her spray bottle, misting her locs lightly, then ran her fingers through them, feeling the softness of the strands. With practiced ease, she applied her growth oil and a touch of leave-in conditioner, giving her hair the attention it deserved.
Before leaving the bathroom, Ayo playfully tousled her hair, creating a soft frizz, and winked at her reflection. For a moment, she felt empowered, a little mischief glinting in her eye. Today might not be easy, but she was going to face it on her terms.
"Good morning, Mom!" Ayo called out as she bounded down the stairs, her mood lifted ever so slightly by the comforting familiarity of home. She didn't see her mother in the kitchen yet, but she could smell the faint aroma of breakfast in the air. Her mom, Funmi, was an early riser, and on important days like this, she loved to make breakfast to send Ayo off with a full stomach and a heart filled with love.
Funmi always made a big deal about the first day of school. "It sets the tone for the whole year," she'd say, and despite the challenges Ayo faced, her mom's optimism always gave her a little extra strength.
"Káàrọ̀ o, Ayo àyé mi," Ayo's mom, Funmi, greeted her warmly in Yoruba, a gentle reminder of their deep-rooted connection to their Nigerian heritage. It was a phrase Ayo had heard countless times, translating to "Good morning to the happiness of my life."
It always made her feel cherished, even on tough mornings like today. Despite the dread of returning to school, her mom's love made things a little more bearable.
Funmi, who had grown up in Nigeria as part of the Yoruba tribe, spoke the language fluently and made sure to pass it on to her daughter, keeping their cultural bond alive in the heart of their American life. Ayo's existence, Funmi often reminisced, was the product of a spontaneous, life-changing decision she had made at her college graduation party in 2004. Ayo hadn't been planned, but she was the greatest gift of Funmi's life. And despite the ups and downs of single parenthood, Funmi had raised Ayo into an intelligent, resilient young woman.
"Hot dogs, bacon, and eggs for breakfast? Sweet!" Ayo grinned as she looked at the spread her mom had laid out on the dining table.
"Don't forget to eat well before heading to school," Funmi reminded her with a smile, wiping the kitchen counter. She knew how much Ayo loved hearty breakfasts and had made sure to prepare something special for the first day of her senior year.
As Ayo wolfed down her food, her mom eyed her outfit critically. "Are you seriously going to school dressed like a teenage boy?" Funmi asked, raising an eyebrow.
Ayo rolled her eyes, not even pausing between bites. She was wearing a black baggy tee, dark blue jeans, and her well-loved white Converse sneakers—her typical go-to look.
"Mom, come on, we've talked about this. This is the latest style, and I—oh no!" Just then, a piece of sausage slipped from her fork and plummeted to the floor. Quick as lightning, Ayo scooped it up and popped it back into her mouth.
"Ayo!" Funmi gasped, genuinely shocked by the swift move.
"Sorry, five-second rule, Mom. I grabbed it before the germs could get to it." Ayo winked and quickly chewed the sausage, but in a flash, she was already heading toward the couch to grab her school bag and beanie. She'd prepared everything the night before, not wanting to rush.
Funmi, still a little flustered by the sausage incident, noticed Ayo getting ready to leave and called out, "Wait, I haven't finished packing your lunch."
Ayo sighed dramatically, slipping on her Converse. "Mom, I'm a senior now. Lunch boxes are for kids. I'll be fine."
Funmi put down the lunch box, exasperated. "So you're saying only kids get hungry?" she shot back, her voice laced with playful frustration.
Ayo finished knotting her shoelaces, then walked over to where her mom stood, hands on her shoulders. "Mom, I love you, but I really don't have time for this right now."
Funmi glanced at the clock. "But it's just a few minutes past 7."
"Exactly. Which means I'm dangerously close to being late for my first day of school," Ayo said with urgency, darting toward the door.
"See you when I see you!" she yelled as she flung the door open and sprinted outside, slamming it shut behind her with a bang.
Funmi stood there for a moment, her motherly instincts still nagging at her. She sighed, unpacking the lunch box with a quiet prayer.
"Keep my child safe, dear Lord," she murmured under her breath. It was the same prayer she said every morning, but today, with Ayo heading into her senior year, it felt more important than ever.