Mom’s eyes softened. “Still rattled?”
“Maybe.” He glanced at the pouch. “But yesterday made me feel different.”
Monica set her 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, Monica cleared her throat.
“I filed an after-action note on the store incident,” she said. “They’ll review how the call was handled. We can’t always prevent biased assumptions, but we can demand better responses.”
He leaned forward. “You think they’ll actually do something?”
She folded her hands. “It’s a start.”
Malik nodded, digesting the weight of her words. “Mom, can we visit Grandma later?”
Monica studied him. “Of course. But first you have algebra tutoring, right?”
He groaned. “Dad says I can’t skip it.”
“Your father has a point,” she 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 strap of his new watch, remembering how he had 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.”
“Afternoon.”
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?”