“Morning, champ,” David replied, handing him a steaming mug. The warmth seeped into his palms. “Sleep okay?”
He took a sip of coffee. Bitter, strong, just the way his dad liked it, though Malik preferred hot chocolate. He shrugged. “Dreamed about being in a lineup.”
Dad’s eyes softened. “Still rattled.”
“Maybe.” He glanced at the pouch. “But yesterday made me feel different.”
David set his jaw. “I’m proud of you.”
He offered a small smile. “Thanks.”
They sat at the breakfast table. Toast, scrambled eggs, and that uneasy silence that often follows big moments. Finally, David cleared his throat. “I filed an after-action report on the store incident,” he said. “They’ll review procedures. I want that to change things, Malik. We can’t always prevent biased calls, but we can demand better responses.”
He leaned forward. “You think they’ll actually do something?”
David folded his hands. “It’s a start.”
Malik nodded, digesting the weight of his words. “Dad, can we visit Grandma later?”
David studied him. “Of course, but first you have algebra tutoring, right?”
He groaned. “You say I can’t skip it.”
“I have a point,” he smiled. “Now go get ready.”
Midday found Malik walking down Camelback Road toward the community center. Algebra was always a headache, but he needed to keep his grades up if he wanted that scholarship to ASU. He fiddled with the string of his hoodie, remembering how he’d resolved yesterday to challenge assumptions. What if he applied that to math?
Inside the tutoring room, Mr. Singh awaited, thin spectacles perched on his nose, a stack of textbooks at his side. “Good afternoon, Malik.” His voice was gentle, patient.
“Afternoon.” Malik slid into his chair, pulling out his notebook. They worked through quadratic equations, graph interpretations, and word problems about trains approaching each other.
At one point, Malik paused, staring at a particularly confusing graph. “Struggling?” Mr. Singh asked.
“Kind of.” Malik pushed his hair back. “It’s like I know what I’m looking at, but I can’t see the steps to get there.”
Mr. Singh leaned in. “Let’s break it down. What does this axis represent?”
Malik described the variables and together they walked through each stage. Slowly confusion gave way to clarity. When Malik finally solved it, his chest swelled. A small victory, but just like yesterday in the jewelry store, it made him feel capable.
Later on the bus home, he replayed the moment he asked to return and pay full price. He hadn’t felt that assertive ever. Outside the window, Arizona scrubland gave way to a patchwork of neighborhoods. He spotted the corner café where he and his dad sometimes shared breakfast burritos. He’d earned enough from last month’s shifts to buy him coffee there. Maybe a thank-you for having his back.
That afternoon, he and his dad drove to visit Grandma Josephine. The narrow streets of Mesa felt worlds away from Scottsdale’s polished storefronts. They pulled up to a faded brick house with a turquoise door, Grandma’s favorite color. Potted succulents lined the stoop and a bicycle leaned against the railing.
Grandma Josephine was eighty-two, but moved with surprising grace. Her silver curls framed a warm smile. She tucked an arm around Malik and kissed his cheek. “My favorite grandson,” she teased. Inside, the kitchen smelled of cornbread and simmering greens. Grandma ladled collard greens into bowls as Malik squeezed in a hug. “How’d your day go, baby?” she asked.