“Coming!” I reply as we scramble to our feet. I get dressed and we head downstairs. Ms. Hightower is standing at the door with a package in her hand.

“I swear it gets colder every year! I might go down to Florida and stay with my sister,” she says. She threatens to leave New York City every year, but she never goes.

“Come in, Ms. Hightower,” I reply, giving her space to enter.

“Nah, I can’t stay. I came to drop this off to you,” she says, showing me the box. “Your mom hid this with me because she didn’t want you to stumble onto it before your birthday. She called the day of the march to say she was coming to get it to give it to you early before your special day, but . . . she never made it to my house. Been waiting for her to wake up, so . . . anyway, thought I’d bring it by.”

I take the package and mumble a quick thank you. Nai and Devonte say good night to Ms. Hightower and close the door behind her. They look on as I open the package. Inside is a box, roughly twelve by nine, with beautiful blue and gold African-print wrapping.

There’s a note on the box, and my breath catches in my throat. I excuse myself so I can read the note alone. I feel like this is just between my mom and me.

I go to her office and lock the door behind me. I sit on her favorite armchair by the window and open the handwritten letter.

Dear Ayomide,

This hand-carved box has been specially crafted for you and has three locks; each lock requires its own key. In order to find the keys, you must follow the clues written below. This undertaking is more involved than previous years have been—perhaps allow your friends to help you in your search. Once you open this box, you will uncover the source of my strength . . .

Good luck!

PS: Nothing is by chance . . .

I read the letter three times. I can’t believe this. I’m finally going to learn her secret to being strong and courageous. Could it be a book she read, a song she sings to herself, or some ancient proverb? All I have to do is complete the hunt and I’ll finally learn the true source of her strength.

I unwrap the box and gasp. It’s a wooden box carved to depict the cover of my favorite Black folktale, “The People Could Fly.” The figures hold hands as they magically fly away from a life of slavery. The locks on the box are heavy and made of dark metal. The keyholes at the center are made to fit antique keys. An elegantly handwritten note is attached to the first lock:

The King’s death gave me life.

My father is first, in two places.

Give me everything and I will give you wings.

Chapter Thirteen