“What do you mean, call you? We’re coming with you!” Devonte says, going for the door. Before he can reach it, I run out of the office and lock the door. They shout in protest and ask if I’ve lost my mind.

I reply through the locked door, “I’m sorry, but I can’t take the chance that you guys might get hurt, given everything that’s happening. I need you all to stay in there, where it’s safe.”

“Ayo, don’t do this!” Devonte shouts. I wish I didn’t have to leave them here, but I know its what’s best. I get to the exit. I hear Nai banging on the office door and shouting behind me, “Ayo, you can’t go out there by yourself. Something terrible could happen to you.”

Nai, something terrible already did.

Chapter Nineteen

Roots & Wings

The streets are even more chaotic than when I left my house earlier. It feels more like a war zone than it does a thriving city. The car alarms, sirens, and protest chants all mix to make one wall of harmful noise. The stores that could not close up in time are rushing to do so now. The homeless people on 116th Street, where the market is located, are scrambling to get to safety. The air is smoky and thick thanks to lingering tear gas.

I keep my head down until I make it to the market. The Harlem market is a row of shops that sell African crafts and textiles. You can find anything there, from printed shirts with African countries on them to high-end African sculptures.

I scour the row of shops, but most of the merchants have gone. The few who remain are trying to close up shop as fast as they can. I ask them if any of them know who Hathaway is or if they know what shop sells the box I have in my hand, but no luck so far.

Damn!

I check my cell for an update and learn that some of the protesters are now being tased, in addition to tear-gassed. There’s also a report of shots fired, but no one knows who took the shots or why. The weight of the chaos brings my head down, and then the rest of my body. I’m sitting on the corner, hugging my knees, trying not to let the heaviness of everything crush me. And that’s when I hear it: my mom’s voice. She whispers softly in my ear.

“Ayomide, there is a job to do. Fall apart on time that is yours. This time belongs to our cause. Our people.”

I drag myself back upright.

All right, Mom, I’m up. Now help me find the shop I need.