AMERICAN GIRL ⤑ T'CHALLA (BLACK PANTHER)

3

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I wasn't going to go.

I even balled up the paper and threw it in the gutter because that's how much the idea was worth to me. He'd found my job, found my house, and now he was going to find himself standing alone because I wasn't going to go. I'd scrape gum from the sidewalks before I had any part of Wakanda's stupid outreach program. Where had they been all those years before? What made them so trustworthy now? I wasn't going to go, and if they needed employees, they were going to have to find another sellout because I wouldn't be the one.

That's what I told myself as I pulled away from my house with the one bedroom and the three people living inside.

That's what I told myself as I drove past a McDonald's hiring sign, knowing it would take a whole lot more than $12.25 an hour to pay the rent and keep the lights on.

That's what I told myself as I went by my old middle school and remembered how we never had good books in class and we never read much outside of it either. Maybe if I'd been supplied with the resources and the motivation to do better, I'd be rich right now. I wouldn't be in this janky car with no job and no dignity. My life wouldn't be such a mess. The teachers hadn't cared. If only there had been someone else who did.

Youth Outreach.

That didn't sound so bad. It sounded like something I could have used myself.

It was 11:57 when I accepted that I was all out of other options and found myself driving toward the address King T'Challa had written down. I would be late, I would be dressed like a seven-year-old boy, but I would be there. That would have to be enough.

I pulled up ten minutes after I was meant to and tried to fix myself as best as I could. There wasn't much to do but tug at my jeans and pull at my hoodie. My sneakers were dirty and my curls looked slept on, but those parts I couldn't change in a parking lot.

"Girlish charm, please come through," I prayed as I fluffed my hair up in the rearview mirror. Then I took a deep breath and went for it.

Just from outside, the building didn't look like much of a space for anything. With windows still boarded and brick crumbling from the walls in some places, you could tell that it had just been bought. I struggled and had to use both arms when opening the gray, metal doors because the hinges were rusted over.

I thought the bright orange color of my hoodie would make my entrance loud, but it was that and the screech of the door together that immediately drew T'Challa's attention to me. For someone who didn't care much for him or his opinion, I was unexpectedly embarrassed. He wore a fitted long-sleeve with threads of gold embroidered along the collar and his two cuffs. His pants were void of wrinkles, starched and ironed for the gods. His shoes didn't have dirt on them.

If he was judging me, he didn't let it show.

"Akira," he bowed his head in salutation. "I almost thought you wouldn't show."

His demeanor was welcoming, but I still felt out of place. He extended his hand for me to shake, but I stuffed mine in my pockets and shifted uncomfortably.

"Yeah, well I'm here." I wasn't sure if I sounded nervous, awkward, standoffish, or like a messy combination of all three.

"Right," T'Challa frowned, pulling his hand back and balling it into a loose fist.

Standoffish. I had definitely sounded standoffish.

"Well, why don't we both have a seat."

He lead me across the room, footsteps muffled by dust on the checkered floor. He pulled out a chair then stared at me for an uncomfortably long time until it clicked that he was waiting for me to sit in it.

"Oh," I went when I realized it. "My bad."

After I sat down, he took a seat across from me then gestured toward all the space surrounding us.

"So," he said, "what do you think?"

I looked around at all the chipped paint, the cracked tiles, and the busted lights. The place spoke what I thought for itself.

"I know there is still much work to be done," he smiled, probably finding humor in my grimacing face. "There are seven floors and we will renovate them all to your liking, Akira. If you take this offer from me."

I straightened up in my seat and slid my eyes back toward T'Challa.

"To my liking?" I questioned. "Why mine?"

"Because I want you to be Wakanda's head of Oakland area youth outreach."

He said it as though it wasn't the most absurd idea on the planet. As if it all made perfect sense.

"Excuse me?" I said, cocking my head forward.

T'Challa dropped his smile then quickly moved in for reconcile.

"I'm sorry if my intentions were misconstrued, I meant not to offend y-"

"I'm not offended," I told him. "I'm just... confused. Why me? I'm not at all qualified."

"I think you are very qualified. For one to a be a good shepherd, one must merely know and love their sheep."

"Huh?"

T'Challa sighed and leaned forward in his seat, his expression earnest.

"Look, all I am saying is that you showed me your passion and your leadership the moment you approached me. You might have been trying to anger me, but what you did was show me that you cared. More than anyone had shown me in interviews for this very position on that very day. We need someone like you for something like this. It is important."

I shook my head and scooted back in my chair.

"Yeah, I know it's important," I said, "that's why I can't do it. Why don't you find somebody with a degree or experience or something?"

"They don't give out degrees on life and your experience is growing up here and knowing what needs to change. Your input and leadership is more valuable than that of any Harvard graduate with fifty degrees for all I care. Just give the program and yourself a chance. That is all I ask."

I looked down at my dirty shoes and pondered. I'd never given myself a "chance" on much of anything. Chances weren't realistic, and in the instances that they were, they were for trying out for the high school basketball team. Not for heading entire programs. I still wasn't sure.

"I- I don't know..."

That's when I looked up and saw his face. I'd never seen so much in one man's expression. I was used to cold glares and passive aggression, but this man was begging with his eyes and he didn't look sorry about it. It had an affect on me and in that moment I couldn't say no. It would break his heart and mine.

"But I guess... I could try."

His warmth returned so quickly I almost felt bamboozled, but before I could say a thing, we were shaking hands and he was telling me, "Welcome to the family. We will compensate you well." 

He handed me a folder and told me when we would next meet. "Just come with your ideas and the rest will be discussed." 

I couldn't match his excitement because I was too far off in disbelief. 

Head of Oakland Area Youth Outreach.

Me.

A twenty-something-year-old ghetto girl still living in a house with her grandma and big brother, who hated the idea of her city being "saved" by outsiders.

That was now me.

I declined his offer to walk me to my car and let it soak in as I crossed the empty parking lot alone. As I walked, a gust of wind blew fiercely and something from the folder dropped and landed at my feet. I bent down to pick it up, holding the folder tight to keep anything else from flying, and that's when I saw what it was:

A new pair of earphones.