Page 237 of When Love Takes Root

Before he could answer, the lights dimmed.

The room settled beneath the rustle of programs, graduation gowns, and families trying to prepare themselves for the moment they had prayed toward for years. Music rose through the auditorium as the graduates entered in rows.

Celeste stood before anybody else.

“There she is.”

I followed her gaze.

Maya walked between two classmates wearing a deep purple cap and gown, honor cords draped across her shoulders, and a stole embroidered with the crest of Langston University. She carried herself with that same thoughtful grace she had always possessed, but there was something new in her posture.

Our girl had earned a full scholarship to one of the most prestigious HBCUs in the country, where she planned to study visual arts and education. She wanted to create, teach, and build spaces where children who noticed too much would never be told they were dramatic for paying attention.

Celeste pressed one hand to her mouth.

“My baby.”

I wrapped my arm around her shoulders. “She did it.”

“She did.”

The ceremony moved through speeches about promise, perseverance, and every road still waiting beyond that stage. Skye whispered commentary until Zuri threatened to take her program. JJ kept checking Celeste like he thought she might need medical assistance before Maya’s name was called.

Then the announcer reached the Cs.

My hand closed around Celeste’s.

“Maya Celeste Coleman.”

Our family erupted.

JJ shouted first.

Kayden shot to his feet beside me.

Zuri and Skye screamed like Maya had won a Grammy. Lyric released glitter from a source no adult had authorized. Jaya yelled, “Langston bound, period!” Jamilah clapped with her whole body, her laughter pulling smiles and applause from the families around us.

I stood and yelled Maya’s name with enough force to make Kayden grab my sleeve.

“Pop Siah, sit down!”

“She graduated!”

“We know! We all looking at her!”

Maya crossed the stage, accepted her diploma, and searched the audience until she found Celeste.

She pressed two fingers to her heart before pointing toward our row. Our sign. I see you.

Celeste returned it first.

Then Maya’s eyes found mine.

I pressed two fingers to my heart and gave it back.

Her smile trembled.

For one second, the crowded auditorium disappeared. I saw the girl beneath the oak tree with her purple pencil, showing me a sketchbook she protected like another heartbeat. I heard her ask if I remembered what she’d told me. I remembered promising her that noticing the world wasn’t the same as being too much.