Global Studies

Last Waltz

The dining room was bathed in the soft, golden light of the chandelier, casting a warm glow over the dark wood table that seemed to ground the room. Family photos, worn with time, lined the walls, a testament to birthdays, vacations, and quiet moments—memories that felt both comforting and bittersweet for Amara Baines. At sixteen, she was on the cusp of leaving home for something new, yet the familiar scents of feijoada, rice, collard greens, and roasted vegetables evoked a sense of safety.

Her mother, Viviane, sat beside her, smoothing the napkin in her lap in a small, habitual movement that signaled she was deep in thought, though her expression remained serene. Across from them, Morton, her half-brother, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his eyes scanning the room with a calm but guarded demeanor. Amara's father, Thomas, sat at the head of the table, unusually quiet, his gaze flicking to her and lingering just a bit too long before he looked away. Something weighed heavily on him, and the air in the room grew tense.

It was Morton who finally broke the silence, his tone casual but probing. "So, how did you even hear about this Winthrop Academy?" he asked, his fork stabbing a piece of sausage. "Seems random."

Amara brightened, eager to explain. "I couldn't sleep one night, so I started looking up summer programs," she said, leaning forward. "Then I found Winthrop's program in Rhode Island, and I remembered Dad had gone there. It just felt... right."

Viviane smiled softly, her Brazilian accent lilting as she spoke. "Like it was meant to be, meu amor?" she asked gently. "Life may send us signs, but it's what we do with them that truly matters."

Amara nodded, her excitement undimmed. "Exactly! It's a chance to connect with Dad's past, to understand him better, and maybe even learn more about myself."

Thomas shifted in his chair, drawing their attention. "I remember when you first mentioned it," he began slowly, his voice quieter than usual. "You were so excited, so determined."

He paused, running a hand through his graying hair. "But there's a reason I haven't talked much about my time at Winthrop."

Amara's smile faltered, sensing the change in his tone. "What do you mean, Dad? What's wrong with Winthrop?"

Thomas glanced at Viviane before answering, his words measured. "It's not the school. It's just... my time there wasn't as simple as you might think. There are memories from that place I don't want you to carry."

A heavy silence filled the room as Amara searched her father's face, trying to understand the meaning behind his words. Morton, who had been listening more closely than he let on, leaned forward, his casual attitude slipping. "What kind of memories?" he asked, his voice quieter now, curious.

Thomas exhaled slowly, his gaze distant as though he were looking at something only he could see. "Memories from a time when I was still figuring out who I was," he admitted. "Some things I never really dealt with. I guess I wasn't ready for you, Amara, to walk those same hallways."

Amara frowned, feeling a mix of curiosity and defiance rise within her. "But I'm not you, Dad," she said softly, her voice steady. "My experience will be different, won't it?"

Thomas looked at her, his expression softening. He reached out to touch her hand, his grip warm and gentle. "You're right," he said after a pause. "You're not me. And that's what scares me. I don't want you to make the same mistakes I did. But I know you're stronger than I was."

Viviane placed a comforting hand on Thomas's arm, her smile small but reassuring. She turned to Amara. "Your father is trying to protect you, querida," she said softly. "But we both know you're ready for this."

Amara's heart raced, not from fear but from determination. She met her father's gaze, her eyes bright with resolve. "I'll be okay, Dad," she said quietly but firmly. "I'll make my own memories. I won't repeat your mistakes."