“For real, Naija? It’s like that?” Dell says, pretending to be hurt.

“You brought your lunch from home. And you ate it already,” Shawn says.

“It’s called an appetizer,” Dell counters.

“It’s called a meatball sandwich,” Shawn says.

“Ayo’s gonna talk to her mom today about leaving See Us,” Naija tells them.

“Is it for real this time?” Dell says.

“Yes, I have a plan,” I reply. “Well, I actually have plan A, and in case that doesn’t work, plan B.”

“What’s plan A?” Shawn says.

“I wrote a speech!” They all groan. “It’s not just any speech. It’s the speech,” I assure them as I stand up and pull out my notes from my back pocket. I already have it memorized, but having the paper makes me feel better. I picture my mom standing before me, clear my throat, and begin.

“Thomas Jefferson said—”

“Hell nah!” Shawn says.

“Yeah, that’s awful,” Naija cosigns.

“I just started. How can it be awful already?” I protest.

“You’re quoting Thomas Jefferson. You want to convince your mom to set you free by quoting a guy who owned slaves?” Shawn points out.

“Damn, I didn’t think of that.” Now, totally deflated, I sit back down.

“Ayo, don’t stress about the quote. Just take that part out,” Naija suggests.

“Yeah, and whatever you do, be confident, or your mom will eat you alive,” Shawn says.

“They’re right. You gotta go hard,” Dell adds.

“I gotta go hard,” I reply, mostly to myself. “I’ll say, ‘Mom, it’s my life! I do what I want!’ ”

“You can’t say that!” Naija warns me. “You have a Black mama.”

Dell shakes his head. “You come at Rosalie Bosia like that and we’ll be making funeral plans.”

“Be certain, but not rude,” Naija says.

“Okay, got it,” I reply.

“Just in case you don’t got it, what’s plan B?” Dell asks.

“The hunt,” I reply.

When I was a kid, whenever my mom wanted to get me interested in learning something new, she’d plan a scavenger hunt. I learned about and visited all the Underground Railroad stops in Manhattan; I discovered the journey my relatives took to get to Harlem during the Great Migration and the origins of the Harlem Renaissance.

I hated the hunts in the beginning. But the more I did them, the better I got at them and the more fun they became. Now, every year, I plan a scavenger hunt for her birthday, and she plans one for mine. It’s the one time I feel like my mom really belongs to me.

When the hunt is over, I get to ask for anything I want. I’ve gotten a new iPhone, clothes, swimming lessons, and have had a chance to visit Italy and Thailand. But while the gifts are great, the best part is having something that’s just between us.