“It’s Jessica. And feel free to call if you remember anything else.” She paused and smiled as if she wanted to say something more, but then decided against it. “I hope you come back up to the Sierras sometime,” she said finally. “You should give them another chance.”

It was almost an hour before Todd was due, so after checking with the front desk, Gwen returned to her room. She was tired, completely worn down. The bed was made up already so she lay down on top of it. Three days she had slept, the rangers said. She could easily sleep three more.

* * *

She was awakened by someone yelling, “Timber, wait!” And then a flurry of wriggling fur, muffled yelps of joy, and wet kisses.

“Well, hi there!” Gwen said to the dog, who nuzzled her in return.

Timber was trailing a new leash, Todd nowhere to be seen. She panted and smiled, her fur white and clean, her long tail thumping the bed. She snuck in another kiss and rested her head on Gwen’s chest, and Gwen closed her eyes, laughing, and held her tight.

Epilogue

One Year Later

The scholarship presentation was set to start in half an hour, but Gwen couldn’t keep her eyes off the sky. The clouds were gorgeous, stretched thinly across the top of the mountains. When she’d arrived at the park at six thirty that morning, they were lit pink on the bottoms, and that—along with the balloons on the fences, the neat rows of white chairs, the stage that was already draped with colorful banners—had convinced her it would be a lovely day. Now, at nine thirty, families were already lining up outside the rope barrier. There were a few more signs to put up, certificates to get in order, the AV system to check. She would be introducing all the kids today—thirty of her students who’d just graduated from high school and were headed off to college in the fall.

“Are you reserving seats for the graduates?” Todd asked.

“Yes, the first two rows.”

“Okay.” He stretched masking tape between the first and second rows, and set Reserved cards on each of the chairs.

Gwen smiled. It was still strange to see Todd in a button-down shirt and tie, but she was getting used to it. He had been volunteering for much of the last year—helping review contracts, sponsoring a field trip, coming to talk to a group of youth on Career Day. His firm had made a donation to provide all the graduates with $2,500 scholarships, and he was here to see them presented. At first Gwen had been unsure about his interest in helping—and some of her colleagues, like Devon, had been downright resistant—but now she was glad he was there. He seemed genuinely pleased to be involved, and it probably gave him something to do—which was especially important since he and his wife had separated.

By nine forty-five, over a hundred people were waiting. Some of Gwen’s colleagues monitored the line but all the families were patient—maybe it was pride on behalf of the students; maybe it was the pleasure of being outdoors on such a beautiful morning. The park—which used to be so overrun by gangs that people avoided it even in daylight—had been completely redone the previous year, and had recently reopened with new baseball fields, a soccer field, playgrounds and pools, exercise stations for the runners who circled the park, and vast amounts of grassy, tree-lined, unstructured space, one area of which they were using for the day’s event. Watts had not had a space like this in all the years that Gwen had worked there, and for many more years before that. Arriving this morning, under that colorful sky, and seeing all the early-morning joggers and cyclists, Gwen had been filled with happiness, and pride.

At ten, Gwen’s colleagues unhooked one end of the barrier. Families streamed in and took their seats, and there was a chatty hubbub of excitement. Gwen noted happily that the Latino and African American families intermingled, did not sit in different sections. People were talking to one another, kids playing with kids, mothers laughing and comparing stories, men shaking hands and clapping each other on the back. These families had made sacrifices, she knew—creating quiet zones in overcrowded apartments so that their kids could do their homework; working multiple jobs; pushing school officials and social service agencies and churches and clinics to ensure their kids got what they needed. All of this even though most of them lacked formal educations themselves, and many had language barriers. Gwen moved among them and greeted the parents she knew, hugged the beaming kids. Ricardo Flores, who’d graduated from Jordan, was attending USC. Darius Colson, from Locke, would be attending Cal State Northridge. Katrina Johnson and Maria Villalobos from Alliance were going to UCLA, and Pedro and Juanita Gonzalez, twins from King-Drew Medical Magnet, would be going to UC Riverside. LeHenry Stevens, who’d grown up in Nickerson Gardens, had gotten a full ride to Stanford, and Charise Tolliver, from Jordan Downs, was going to Howard. Sylvia Morales, Lupita Gomez, and Dawn Stanton, the girls from Lincoln, were going to Berkeley, Cal State Long Beach, and UC San Diego. And Sandra Gutierrez, the girl she’d worried about so much, had received a scholarship to UC Santa Cruz.

“Thank you,” said Mrs. Gutierrez, hugging Gwen tight. That was all she could manage through her tears. They had plenty to celebrate, Sandra and her mom, and fewer things to be scared of. Sandra’s stepfather was in prison now, and would be there for at least eight years.

Mixed in with the families were other guests—the principals from the various high schools that the students had come from, teachers, coaches, pastors, representatives from partner agencies; the deputy from the mayor’s office who’d come to present a proclamation from the city. In one of the back rows sat Oscar and Claudia, and Oscar’s daughter Lily; they’d come in and taken their seats, waving at Gwen across the crowd.

Finally everyone was assembled and Dr. Morrison, the head of Gwen’s agency, took the stage. She began with a short prayer, and then thanked everyone for attending. She congratulated all the graduates, and thanked Harrington & Fletcher, Todd’s law firm, for awarding the scholarships, as well as several of the corporate partners who had donated a “college care package”—school supplies, backpacks, gift certificates for books—for each of the graduates. She thanked God for imbuing the children and families with strength and determination, and for blessing them with such a beautiful day. Then she turned the mic over to Gwen.

When Gwen stepped to the podium, she gazed out at the audience—the proud faces of the students and their families. She looked past them at the rest of the park—the kids starting to gather for baseball; the booths at the farmer’s market; the two police cars stationed fifty yards beyond their event, unobtrusive but present, just in case.

“I want to tell each and every one of you how proud we are,” she began. Beside her, with another mic, her colleague Julio translated her words into Spanish. “You have succeeded despite facing challenges and barriers that others can’t even imagine. You’ve succeeded despite the assumptions of many people outside the community, and some inside too, that there’s no hope for the youth here in Watts.”

“Viva Watts!” someone yelled from the audience.

“That’s right!” agreed another.

“You will need every bit of your optimism, your hard work, your determination, your faith to keep on with your success as you enter this next stage of your lives,” Gwen continued. “But you’ve already shown that you have all those things. And let me tell you something: you have them because of where you grew up, not in spite of it. All the difficulties you’ve faced have made you stronger, more compassionate. They’ve made you who you are.”