The writing contest win came with an invite to a citywide youth summit. Panel discussions. University reps. Free food that tasted like ambition.
Jaylen walked through the doors of the civic center wearing the only button-down shirt he owned, sleeves too short, confidence half-zipped. But when he stepped into that room, he realized something:
*He belonged.*
The other kids talked about internships and study abroad. Jaylen talked about gunshots and grinding. They listened.
One girl, *Leah*, walked over after his panel.
"You said your story started with concrete but was still growing," she said. "That line stuck."
Jaylen smiled. "That's how I see it. Even concrete cracks, right?"
She laughed. "Cracks let light in."
They exchanged numbers.
Back home, the vibe was different.
Tyrell wasn't around much. Mama was tired. Rent was late again.
Jaylen sat at the kitchen table, flipping through brochures from colleges he'd never visited, wondering how far away was too far.
Then came the knock.
Two officers. One clipboard.
They were looking for Tyrell.
Mama's hands shook as she told them he wasn't home. Jaylen sat still, heart pounding, a thousand thoughts screaming at once.
After they left, Mama looked at him.
"You keep going," she said. "You don't stop for nobody. Not even him."
Jaylen nodded. But the weight settled heavy.
That night, he texted Leah.
*Jaylen:* "You ever feel like you're walking through one door, but leaving everything behind on the other side?"
She replied five seconds later.
*Leah:* "Yeah. Every day. But I remind myself why I'm walking."
He stared at her words.
And wrote a new line in his notebook:
*"It's hard to carry love through locked doors."*