The acceptance letter came on a Wednesday.
Jaylen almost missed it, buried under a pile of bills on the kitchen counter. His name printed in bold at the top, the logo of East Side Prep gleaming like a seal of another world.
He read it three times. Once fast. Twice slow. Then once out loud, just to make sure it was real.
*"We are pleased to inform you..."*
He ran to the hallway and banged on Ms. Greene's door, not even realizing he'd sprinted three blocks just to show her. When she opened the door, wrapped in a cardigan, half-asleep, Jaylen just held it up.
She smiled so wide, it cracked the silence of the whole floor.
The next few days moved fast—uniform fittings, orientation schedules, paperwork. Mama scraped together money for supplies, even bought him a new backpack from a thrift store. It still had a tag on it.
Jaylen held it like it was made of gold.
"I ain't never seen you smile like that," she said, watching him pack.
"Never had a reason like this."
First day at East Side Prep hit different.
The walls smelled like fresh paint and potential. The air conditioner worked. The hallways weren't crowded with tension, just students buzzing with quiet ambition.
But Jaylen felt the stares.
His skin, his accent, his thrifted shoes—they all told stories the others didn't understand.
In English class, he introduced himself. "Jaylen Carter. I like to write."
A girl with braids and a leather journal smiled from the corner. "What do you write?"
"Truth," he said.
And she nodded. "That's the best kind."
Back on 118th, Tyrell watched Jaylen walk to the train station each morning. Backpack over one shoulder. Head up. Eyes forward.
It was the look of someone building a future.
And it gave Tyrell something he hadn't felt in a long time—hope.