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Memories of my mother.
“We stand together,” I concluded firmly, meeting each pair of eyes with a silent plea for unity.
And stand together we would—even if it meant standing against Cassius Portman himself.
I clutched the damning article, Cassius Portman’s face staring back at me from beneath the headline. My mind swirled with images of our fervent encounter, his hands tracing the contours of my body, but now a different heat flushed my cheeks—a burning indignation.
I shook my head, as if the motion could dispel the intoxicating remnants of that night. “He’s not Prince Charming,” I muttered to myself, trying to etch his new identity into my mind. “He’s the enemy.”
“We could hold a community meeting here tomorrow night,” suggested Mrs. Ramirez. “Get everyone’s input and decide on our next steps.”
I nodded emphatically. “Yes! Let’s do it.”
The room erupted into action as volunteers began coordinating logistics while I scribbled down a flurry of ideas on how to draw attention to our cause.
As the meeting space emptied and silence settled in its wake, I lingered behind. My fingers traced over the cold print bearing Cassius’s name as if it were braille spelling out betrayal.
“You’re just a man,” I whispered into the empty room, letting go of any fanciful notions about who Cassius Portman really was.
Chapter Twelve
Mila
The weight of the community center’s fate pressed down on me like the heaviest of skies threatening a storm.
“We can’t let this happen,” I turned to Melody and Josie. “Cassius Portman may have deep pockets, but we have something stronger—the community’s heart.”
Melody, her paint-stained fingers curling into fists, nodded in fierce agreement. “We’ll stand with you, Mila. We’ll turn his pockets inside out with people power.”
Josie, always the pragmatic one, pulled out her phone, thumbs flying over the screen. “I’m spreading the word. We need everyone on board.”
Together, we plunged into a sea of voices, knocking on doors, shaking hands that worked hard for their living. We went door to door, asking people to join our cause.
At Mrs. Ramirez’s door, her wrinkled hands clutched mine with surprising strength. “I’ll tell everyone at bingo,” she vowed, her eyes sharp with determination.
In the local diner, I stood atop a booth seat, my voice riding the steam from coffee cups and grilled cheese sandwiches. “This is our home! Will we let them tear it down?”
A chorus of “No!” roared back at me.
We were more than a resistance; we were a revolution of hearts and hands ready to fight for our home.
The three of us split the stack of fliers, their bold red letters shouting against the white background. “Save Our Center,” they declared. I shoved a handful into my bag and turned to Josie and Melody.
“Let’s make sure these get into every hand, every mailbox.”
Melody, her usual vibrant self, gave a quick nod. “No door goes unknocked, no face goes unseen.”
Josie flashed a conspiratorial grin. “They’ll have to hear us out.”
We split up, our footsteps a rhythm against the pavement as we navigated through the neighborhood. At each door, I knocked with purpose.
“Morning, Mrs. Dae,” I greeted the elderly woman who answered her door with a cat perched on her shoulder.
She squinted at the flier I offered. “What’s this now?”
“They’re planning to tear down the community center for new condos,” I explained, watching her face tighten.
“That center’s where my grandkids play after school,” she murmured, stroking her cat absentmindedly.
