Mom scoffs. “Lena, I put a weight on my child’s back no grown man could carry, let alone a child. I’ve fractured some parts of my baby, and other parts . . . I’ve completely shattered. But I’ll tell you this: if Ayo comes to me and says a grown man is going out of his way to take note of the curve of her breasts or the outline of her hips, I’ll fight like hell to protect her from that. And until you are willing to do the same, that girl is staying here with me.”

The two women are locked in a standoff. Ms. Harris’s hard expression and deadly glare raise the temperature in the room. “You will not tell me what to do with my own child.”

“There are very few things in this world I’d gladly go to prison for, and one of them is Naija. Lena, don’t test me.”

There is no anger in my mother’s voice. There’s something far more menacing—certainty. This unwavering belief that come hell, high water, or the devil himself, no one is taking Naija away from this house. Ms. Harris knows that too. So she makes her way past Mom and out the door.

It’s Sunday; the protest is finally here. The streets of Harlem are alive. The How Much? signs and banners are ubiquitous, even more so than before. Local businesses, churches, and schools all carry the banner, and most are shutting down so they can attend the protest. The excitement is palpable. My house is complete chaos with last-minute fires needing to be extinguished.

Everyone I know is helping out at the march, including all my friends. My mom won’t let me lend a hand. She reminded me that I have plans. I told her that Devonte could wait a little while, but she insisted I carry on with what I’ve scheduled for today. Her voice wasn’t cold or cutting, but it still hurt that she sent me away. I get it—after all, that’s what I asked for.

We set up for a day of movies, smack talking, and pizza at Devonte’s house. His uncle is at work, so it’s just the two of us. I think the reason Devonte chose Sunday to do the movie battle was to keep my mind off the protest. I’ve tried really hard to act like I don’t miss being front and center with See Us. But I think he can tell that some part of me misses it.

It’s a matter of time. Soon, I won’t even miss being part of See Us. It will be out of my mind completely.

I try to focus on the movie, but eventually, I give up. “Okay, okay, maybe we can catch just a little bit of the protest. I want to hear my mom speak.”