If you relax, it will enable me to do anything I-, you're mine

I can read your future, I can change it 'round some too

Andell and Ezekiel take Davis out; There is a time-jump narrative that tracks his internal shift, public behavior, racial discrimination, and his relationship with Belle.
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The Making of a Man Who Smiles Too Sharp: 1972 — Fifteen and Still Believing

In 1972, Davis is still soft around the edges, though he'd never admit it aloud.

At fifteen, he is well-behaved in the way clever boys often are—polite when watched, deferential to elders, careful with his grades. Teachers describe him as "bright, but distracting," "too charming for his own good," "always asking questions that don't have answers in the textbook." He laughs easily. He dances when he thinks no one is looking. He believes—earnestly, almost painfully—that wonder is something you can chase and catch.

New Orleans still feels like a promise to him then.

He runs errands for Andell, listens when she speaks in riddles, and files her words away for later. He is deeply attached to his mother, who keeps him grounded but does not cage him—she sees his hunger and fears it, but she also knows better than to try to starve it out.

Yet even in 1972, the world is already teaching him limits.

Neighbors watch him more closely than others.

Shopkeepers follow him through aisles.

School administrators punish his tone more than his actions.

He is learning, slowly, that being brilliant and Black is treated as a provocation.

Still, at fifteen, he hasn't turned bitter. Not yet. He believes in almost there. He believes the city will eventually notice him for the right reasons.

A trumpet wailed from somewhere down the street—raw, improvised jazz bleeding into funk bass thumping from a passing car. Davis's foot tapped automatically, catching both rhythms at once.

"You still comin' to Sunday school?" James asked.

Davis hesitated.

"Miss Loretta been askin'," James added. "Says you got a good voice for hymns."

Davis smiled faintly. "Hymns don't like questions."

James stiffened. "Church ain't about questions."

"That's the problem."

James stood. "Mama says messin' with cards, spirits, all that—"

"—'Devil's work,'" Davis finished softly. "Funny thing is, everybody blames the devil when they don't understand the rules."

And then there is Belle.

Belle — Quiet Resistance

They meet through books—secondhand shops, borrowed novels, whispered recommendations. She listens when he speaks, not with fascination or fear, but with recognition.

"I like you, Belle. More than I should admit. And I've been scared, okay? Scared of what people think, scared of... me, even. I didn't wa—..."

Belle reached across the counter, her hand brushing his. "Davis..."

A long silence followed, the kind where the world seems to hold its breath. Then Belle smiled gently, squeezing his hand. "You didn't have to pretend," she said softly. "I've been hoping you'd say that."

Befriending one another is one way, but having a relationship is a whole different story, and that story will not end well for either of them.

(Andell pov)
I truly believe that going away at least as a family trip could be good for us. Lord, please watch out for all of us.

The bus station smelled like dust, coffee, and old prayers.

Davis sat stiffly on the bench, deck of cards tucked deep in his coat pocket like a secret heartbeat. I stood with Ezekiel hovered by my side, hands folded as we talked to our son.

Davis crossed his arms. "So you takin' me away?"

Mama Odie turned then—eyes sharp behind the smile. "We ain't takin' you nowhere you wasn't already headed."

"Why?" His voice cracked despite himself. "I ain't done nothin' wrong."

"No," I agreed gently. "But you flirtin' with shortcuts."

Davis looked away. "James gonna think I ran."

Ezekiel nodded. "Son..Knowledge is power, but only faith takes you all the way."

The bus doors hissed open. As Davis climbed aboard, music echoed faintly from somewhere—gospel chords tangled with blues. He pressed his forehead to the window, fingers brushing the deck in his pocket.

3 days later...

(Davis pov)
Guess momma was right about that trip being good for us, but that doesn't mean I can't hustle.

Third pov

1973 — The Cracks Appear
By sixteen, something has shifted.

Conflicting Drives:
Davis developed a dual nature: a genuine desire to do wonders—volunteering at church, helping kids, supporting Black community efforts—but simultaneously drawn to shortcuts, card games, and mischief.

His father guide him, while his uncle lovingly shows support
His mother, Mama Odie worries more openly.
James (Tiana's father) offers him quiet advice about dignity, patience, and building something lasting.

Facilier listens.

But he doesn't fully believe them anymore.