Hope Unbroken (Unveiled Series Book 3) (14 page)

chapter nineteen

Credentials

Three weeks of staying busy with classes and schoolwork would’ve been a nice distraction if the fast pace weren’t driving the semester closer to deadlines I wasn’t ready for.

Being less than a month away from our lease termination was bad enough without wondering what kind of backlash Nick had in store for Riley now that his intended February tour start date had passed. And I didn’t even want to think about Jaycee and Trevor moving off-campus soon. All of it wrung my stomach in knots as we pulled up in front of the center.

Riley cut the engine. “Ready to take the spotlight, Miss Business Degree?”

I unbuckled my seatbelt. “You had to go there, didn’t you?” Like I wasn’t nervous enough. Why had I agreed to this? “I’m not sure I’m even qualified to teach. Graduation isn’t for another three months.”

Riley tilted his head at me. “Graduation shmaduation. Having a piece of paper to mount on the wall isn’t what makes you a good teacher.”

I lifted my book bag from the floorboard and hugged it in my lap. “Yeah, well, experience might help.”

“You kidding? You’ve been doing this for months. Just in a different context.”

I leaned my head against the rest and stared at the tan headliner. Working with the kids one-on-one was entirely different from leading a class of adults.

A whiff of cinnamon and cloves lured my focus toward a cup of chai he was waving in front of me. I reached for it, eyes widening.

He sat back. “When all else fails . . .”

After putting it in the cup holder to cool off, I’d gotten so lost in my thoughts, I’d forgotten about it. A slow smile tugged the corners of my mouth. I couldn’t fight it. One taste of those sweet Indian spices, and I was ready to testify that the drink was some type of therapeutic tonic. My lashes fluttered.

His grin toppled into a laugh. “Guess all superheroes get their mojo from somewhere.”

The tea almost sprayed through my nose. I gulped down my own laughter and wiped my chin with my sleeve. He always knew how to put me at ease. “Thanks.”

He winked and stretched into the backseat. “One more reminder that you’ve got this.” He set a gift bag on my lap.

My wary glance didn’t faze his smile. I pulled out the tissue paper and froze. Jasmine’s wooden music box stared up at me. I lifted the lid and traced my fingers over the word
Dream
stenciled inside.

Riley’s thumb brushed over my cheek. “You have a song to share, remember?”

Memories from last year, when he’d loaned me the music box during a time I’d needed it most, climbed from my heart straight for my eyes and ended in a kiss that said everything I couldn’t.

He lifted me back. “Think we better get inside,” he said, voice raspy.

Good idea.

Almost across the street, my cell rang. I stopped on the sidewalk. “Hello?”

“Emma, this is Neal Chandler from the Success Foundation. I got your message.”

So much for my chai’s calming effects. “Yes?” I slanted into the bricks, held my breath. Riley’s face contorted with question. I motioned for him to go in without me, but he flashed me a
yeah, right
expression.

“I’m calling to let you know I reopened your grant request,” Mr. Chandler said.

The morning’s muddled concerns sputtered out in an exhale. “That’s . . . that’s amazing. Thank you so much for your reconsideration. I promise it’s a worthwhile cause.”

“I have no doubt it is. Your proposal is quite impressive. I’m sorry it was overlooked.”

Overlooked?

Riley angled his head. “What?” he mouthed.

I chewed my lip, curious about Mr. Brake but afraid to stir up anything I didn’t need to.

“Our committee will review your file, and I should have some more information for you in the next few weeks.”

Now I had no choice but to ask. Deep breath. “Mr. Brake isn’t on the committee, is he?”

Riley wove his fingers through mine, probably putting all the pieces together by now.

My heart had to have beat a hundred times, waiting for Mr. Chandler’s delayed response.

“Jim’s no longer with the Success Foundation.” The statement lacked any intonation. Just straight, matter-of-fact business.

How much time had I wasted, not trying to reach them any sooner? “As of when?”

Another weighty pause. “This past week, actually.” Mr. Chandler cleared his throat. “I have a meeting to run to, but I can assure you I’ll be in touch as soon as I have an update.”

“Of course. Thank you for calling. Talk to you soon.” I hung up but didn’t move until the conversation had fully sunk in. This could be the breakthrough we needed. A twinge of reservation warned me not to cling to hope. The look in Riley’s eyes reminded me there was nothing else worth holding on to.

“They reopened our proposal.”

“I gathered. Congratulations.” He squeezed me to his side and led me down the walkway to the office.

My mind was still reeling when we walked in. Darius held open the back door for a few of the girls to pass through.

“Where’s Trey?”

He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Said he had to run an errand. Left about ten minutes ago.”

Which meant I’d have to wait to tell him about the grant possibility until after class.
Class.
Mr. Chandler’s call had sidetracked me. I stared at the door to the classroom that I’d gone in and out of too many times to count over the last nine months. It felt like a completely different place today.

On the other side of the doorway, my feet stopped at the edge of the packed classroom filled with people I didn’t know.

Riley laced his fingers through mine again. Funny how much difference such a little thing could make. He kissed my cheek. “Just be yourself.”

I still wasn’t quite ready to let go of his hand. “Stay?”

“Already planned on it.” He pointed behind him. “I’ll be in the back.”

And I’d be in the front. The last place I wanted to be.

He directed my gaze toward the podium.

Right. I headed to my post and gripped the sides of a podium seated on top of a table. Riley reclined against the windowsill, blending into the sea of students, all of whom were probably waiting for me to remember I was the teacher.

I set my tea to the side and withdrew my notes from my book bag. The rustling of papers sounded twice as loud as it should have. After enough blinks to simulate a turbo fan, the words on the page came into focus. Next step was finding my voice.

“Miss Matthews?” Ms. Mendierez headed toward me from the front row. “I hope you don’t mind. I told some of my friends about the class.”

Some
friends? More like the entire neighborhood.

A distinct line of dignity tightened across her forehead. “We’re tired of things being the way they are.” Her gaze briefly wandered behind her. “We might not be the most educated group, but we came ‘cause we’re ready for things to change.”

Her conviction crumbled every bit of uneasiness I had into a tight ball that I quickly swallowed. If they had the courage to learn, then I could find the courage to teach. I returned her smile as she made her way back to her seat.

I twisted my necklace. “Thank you all for coming. Welcome to Financial Planning. My name is Emma Matthews. I’m about to graduate from Reed College with a bachelor of science in business.”

I smoothed out the ruffled corners of my papers and the tiny quiver left in my voice. “I don’t pretend to be an expert on the subject, but I’d like to share some principles that I hope will lay a solid foundation for you to build on. So, let’s go ahead and get started.” I set my finance textbook nearby. Just in case.

“How many of you have an IRA, either Simple or Roth?”

Instead of raised hands, a torrent of blank stares followed my question.

“How about an investment portfolio?”

Still, not a single hand lifted. Several people hung their heads and picked at scratches in their desks, dodging my eye contact.

“A savings account?” I was grasping at straws. “Okay. Um . . .” I snatched up my textbook as my mind raced for a different starting point.

From the back of the room, Riley nodded, and somehow I knew.

I let go of my text and, with it, the security I’d been afraid to release. It wasn’t like me to abandon my notes, but Riley was right this morning. Even as informative as classroom instruction could be, sometimes everyday life experiences were the best teachers.

I veered out from behind the podium and sat on the front edge of the table. “Let’s start with a more basic question. How many of you have a vision for what you’d like to do with your life?”

A few timid hands lifted in the air.

“Maybe it’s the dream of starting your own business,” I said. “Or maybe there’s something you’re good at—something you enjoy investing your time in—but you aren’t quite sure how it could be a financial tool.”

An older woman in the front row sat tall and tucked uncooperative strands of wiry gray hair back into her bun. “Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve wanted to open me a diner.” Her eyes brimmed with flickers of a long-held dream. “I’d call it, Mama’s Café.”

“Mrs. Jackson makes the best hushpuppies in the city,” a man a few rows back piped in.

The woman slumped in her seat and waved off his comment. “But I don’t know nothing about running no business.”

“That’s okay. Business can be learned.” I walked along the first row, searching each face as I passed. “But without vision, you won’t have anything to prevent you from giving up.”

Another hand rose halfway in the air. A young woman gestured to the girl sitting beside her, who didn’t appear to be much older than I was. “Miss Parker doesn’t have an education past high school,” she said, “but she loves to read. Goes through four or five books a week—anything she can get her hands on. I know she’s embarrassed, but I’ve seen her writing something. I think she wants to be an author.”

The girl’s head shot up from her lap. “I don’t have the credentials to be an author.” She hugged her notebook to her stomach. “An agent would only laugh at me.”

I knew that look of self-doubt. Was well acquainted with the power of insecurities.

I squatted to her eye level. “Your courage to dream is your credential.” My gaze flittered toward Riley. “A world of knowledge listed on a resume doesn’t amount to much without heart and character.”

Her smile almost outshined his. Nothing like having your own life lessons hit you square in the chest.

I returned to the front table. “I can teach you practical steps on how to manage finances, but never lose sight of where it all begins.” I scanned the room. “Believing in yourself is what’ll make the difference between wishing things were different and seeing them change.”

My heart was about to break through my ribcage. The words flowed with such confidence, it felt like someone else were talking through me. As if I were merely a part of the audience.

I called Riley up and asked him to tell his own story of daring to believe in his dream of becoming a recording artist. One by one, we went around the classroom and each shared a tucked-away aspiration. Running a daycare center, managing a construction crew, teaching dance lessons. For some, it was the first time acknowledging it publically. For a few, it was the first time even identifying it to themselves.

And even though each goal was attainable, a crisis of confidence tainted almost everyone the same way doubt had plagued Dee’s eyes the day he first showed me his drawings.

A lack of talent or ability didn’t hold them back. A lack of hope did.

We’d be kidding ourselves if we expected that to change overnight. It’d take perseverance. Along with the one thing we were running out of. Time.

I didn’t think my heart could break over the center closing any more than it already had. But seeing Ms. Mendierez’s face light up from the front row as she mouthed “thank you,” left me completely undone.

How could we start this class without being able to finish? Would the little time we had together be enough? I hedged back the thought and ended the class before the lump trekking up my throat became audible.

Chairs screeched backward. Conversations picked up. And I simply stood there, searching for answers I didn’t have.

The group of students gradually dissolved until the last stragglers exited, leaving Riley and me alone. He sauntered up beside me. “My brave fiancée.”

“I’m not sure stumbling my way through a class counts as—”

A yell from outside tunneled through the walls.

Riley and I exchanged one glance and launched out the door.

A woman’s angry sobs caught me short before rounding the bend. I’d seen too much loss mar that street corner to handle any more. I inched around, Riley by my side.

Trey and a woman from the class held Ms. Mendierez up by the arms in front of some kind of oversized poster tacked onto the building above a chalk outline of a body on the ground where someone had strewn layers of garbage and debris across the sidewalk.