I have about a million questions. But I do not go back inside the shop to ask them. That would be like holding a Q&A on the deck of the Titanic. Also, I’d like to open the box here and now, but the chaos is growing and I need to get off the street. I rush into the subway station and get off a few stops later. It only takes a couple of minutes, but every second feels like an hour. I’ve waited so long to find this info, and now that it is only moments away, the wait is killing me. What could the source of my mom’s powers be?

I think it’s a book. It has to be. And if I’m right, then I will have to skim it before I talk to the crowd. What if it’s a massive book? What if it’s like War and Peace and I have a half hour to read it?

Nah. It’s probably a poem. She loves poetry. I bet a long time ago, she ran into a poem that changed her life and made her the woman she is today.

When I get out of the train station, cops are arresting people because the curfew is now in effect. I worm my way past the insanity and make it down the block, toward the restaurant. It’s the only place I can think of to go. I can’t go home; there’s just too much going on there with the media and the board members of See Us. But here, I can open the box by myself but feel safe, knowing my friends are only a few feet away in the back office.

That’s if they are still my friends after I locked them up.

I enter the restaurant, take the box out of my backpack, and place it on the counter. I unlock each lock one at a time. My fingers tremble slightly when I get to the last one. I put the key in the last lock but don’t turn it. I need more time.

You don’t have more time! Wait any longer and there won’t be a Harlem to save! Ayo, open it!

I take out my cell and click on my news app. A small part of me is hoping that it will all go away. I picture myself turning on the news, hearing, “Cops indicted on attempted murder of . . .” and everything will be fine.

I watch a live news feed—the decision still stands. The city is still burning. And every second that passes, it’s getting worse. There are ambulances and police cars everywhere. The crowd in front of the police station is embroiled in a heated exchange with the cops, who have now formed a wall to prevent the crowd from going farther into the station.

“Ayomide!” my mom’s voice screams inside my head.