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“Hate you both!” I said quickly, causing them to giggle as I rushed to catch up. We stopped at a large ballroom, and Ms. Lucas secretly got us behind and to the side of the stage they had set up. The only thing blocking me from God knows how many people was a large wall of curtain.
“Just channel Mom. You know she lives for these types of things,” Antigone whispered beside me.
“Tell them they are beautiful the way they are and that type of stuff,” Mayko added, not helping me at all.
“I’m not answering you when you call anymore,” I replied, taking a deep breath, my hands shaking. This was completely different than anything I had done before—let alone anything I had done last minute.
“Right there.” Sara pointed between the slits of the curtains at a table at the front of the stage. “Those are the girls.”
Nodding, I took a breath, shaking out my hands and moving away from the curtains.
Breathe.
Breathe.
If Esther can do this, you can.
Breathe.
“Tonight, the W.E.W.A. gives this award to Esther London, who sadly could not be here tonight. However, here to accept her award on her behalf is her daughter and actress Amelia London. Please help me walk her to the stage.”
Fuck me, man.
Putting a smile on my face and trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach, I braced myself as they opened the curtains, revealing the packed room. Waving, I held my head high and walked as gracefully as I possibly could toward the glass podium. Taking the award, a glass torch statue, and shaking the speaker’s hand, I turned to face the audience and the cameras. I paused to allow the applause to die down.
“Thank you,” I said when it got quiet. Bullshit it, Amelia. “Today, I stand, as I have always stood, in the shadow of great woman and an even greater mother.”
Again, they applauded.
Nodding, I continued, “Many people have asked over the years what it is like to have Esther London as a mother, and it is very much like holding this award—in all aspects of her life, she passed the torch to me. The strength I have to stand up in the world today is because of her and her constant reminder that as women, we have work harder, though it is not fair or right. We must push ourselves in every aspect of our lives to get the things we truly want—what we deserve, in fact. I would like to thank every member of the Women Empowering Women Association for honoring my mother. I’m not biased or anything …”
They laughed.
“… because she truly is the only logical choice to me. Without her, my life would be completely different. My family will treasure this always. Thank you.” I lifted the award up.
“Tonight, not only does W.E.W.A. allow me to honor my mother, but also six beautiful young women: fourteen-year-old Elisa Rivera Vargas from Bolivia, seventeen-year-old Heloise Severiano of Peru, thirteen-year-old, Pelivanka Dobrislav of Montenegro, sixteen-year-old twins Katerina and Marynia Koval of the Ukraine, and last but certainly not least, from Bulgaria, seventeen-year-old Lala Zahari. Ladies and gentlemen, please stand with me and applaud these young ladies.”
Pushing the award to the side, I, along with everyone else, applauded them as they laughed with each other.
“I was asked to give you ladies advice, and, as the award symbolizes, to pass the torch,” I lifted it to them. “However, the more I thought about it, the less came to mind, because you wouldn’t be here today if you waited for words from others to propel you to act. Each one of you is extraordinary because you sought something and chose to make it happen despite all the obstacles in front you. So my advice is for the young girls who aren’t here today to never ask anyone permission to follow your dreams or to make a positive impact in your communities—just do it. Just be what you want to be, and eventually, you will achieve it. Should you ever forget that, we have six young women here ready to light the way for you. Thank you.”
Backing away from the podium, I walked down the stage toward the girls, giving each one of them a hug, and when the photographer came over, we all huddled together, posing.
Noah
Finally, I thought when Father Christmas himself sat down in front of me. We had been here for a good thirty minutes, and I was beginning to think I had wasted my time.
“You’re as hard-headed as your pops,” he chuckled, downing his beer.
“Don’t compare—”
“Why? You ain’t proud?” he frowned at me.
Frowning, I leaned back, eyeing him carefully. “I could think of thousand adjectives I could use, but ‘proud’ is not among them.”
“You got balls.”
“You’re the second man this week who has commented on my balls. Honestly, it’s making me uncomfortable. Do you have anything for me?”
