Devon sniffed and wiped at his nose. “Sorry,” he said. “Allergies, I think.”

“Mm-hmm. ‘Allergies’.” Carla pulled out a few tissues from her bag. “Very convenient that you men get allergies when you talk about your feelings.” She smiled knowingly. “Now look, whatever’s going on with you and your family ain’t gonna get solved in the span of one bus ride—ooh, and speaking of which, my stop is coming up soon. Here’s what I want you to do—add my contact info, and if you ever find yourself in trouble or you need someone to talk to, I want you to add me, understand?”

Devon smiled. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Oh, don’t call me that!” Carla gave Devon a gentle slap on the arm. “I’ll be your auntie from now on—and I’m serious. You find yourself in trouble, you give me a holler, you hear me?”

“I will Miss Carla… I mean Auntie.” They exchanged contact info with a scan of their QR codes. Devon looked at Carla’s profile photo—it was of her in smart-looking business attire, her arms crossed, and a great, confident smile.

Momma never smiled like that, Devon thought.

“It was really nice meeting you, Miss Carla,” Devon said. “Thank you so much for… you know…”

“Oh, stop it!” Auntie Carla laughed. “Listen, I think we all have seen that life is too damn short and precious to not help where you can. Help others… as long as it doesn’t hurt yourself, of course. No use going around being a martyr in life, is there? Now this is my stop—you take care, Nephew, and I ain’t joking. You call me if you ever find yourself in trouble, hear?”

“Yes’m,” Devon said.

“But I just want you to do a favor for me.” Carla put a hand on Devon’s shoulder and squeezed. “Give your mother a call or a text and just her know you’re alright. Tell her you’re on the bus and safe, you’ll do your convention, and just… leave some space open to talk.” Carla’s eyes glistened. Was she about to cry?

“Will you do that for me, Devon?”

Devon hesitated. After everything he had been through today, he wasn’t ready to open up another fight with Momma. But something in Carla’s eyes compelled him… the pit of his stomach gave an odd twist, a feeling alien and yet so familiar… and he remembered the same stomach-twist he got playing with that girl down the street… that summer day in the park when he was showing Lanie scars he got from falling off his bike and she rolled up her sleeves and rolled down the shoulder of her Cookie Cat t-shirt to show off the scars from her step-father’s belt…

Devon blinked, and he was out of the memory, though the twisting feeling in his stomach remained.

“I will. I promise.”

“Now come here, bring it in—you’ll get through this, nephew.” Carla said, and they gave each other a parting hug. Devon couldn’t remember the last time he hugged Momma. “Alright now I really do have to get off—‘scuse me, pardon, let me by… thank you!”

Carla made her way off the bus. It was just then that Devon realized that they stopped at somewhere in the city center—mighty glass towers, majestic and tall, crystal asparagus spiraling up towards Heaven and catching the light of the hazy sun. Carla waddled her way towards one of the enormous towers, but not before stopping to wave at Devon. He waved back before turning to catch a glimpse of the stop name: Fu Yu Guang, Prosperity Square.

Devon’s eyes widened. Did Auntie Carla work somewhere in Prosperity Square? If so, that meant she had to be pulling in serious money. He looked again at her profile picture—her photo seemed like the photo of a somebody. Devon clicked through her photo feed—there were lots of inspirational sayings about success and photos of conventions. Her last post read:

Big thanks to Richard Bonn and Salim al-Jabaiye for coming in to speak about new models of achievement and interconnectivity in the Post-Web3 era! So many great takeaways!!! :celebration: :celebration: :thumbs up: :thumbs up:

Devon didn’t understand any of this, or recognize any of these people. Her conference had an expensive, highly produced look with well-dressed older folk giving speeches in front of a great blue background, with journalists patiently taking notes on the side. In one of those pictures was Auntie Carla, staring off into the distance with a knuckle pointed for emphasis. On her neck was a string of pearls like blueberries carved from glistening marble.

Auntie Carla was a somebody. But if she was a somebody, what the heck was she doing on a public bus going down from Harvey St?

Could it be that he finally had someone in his corner?

Maybe. But talk was cheap, even if it was nice to hear. Most likely they would part ways here and he’d never see her again.

But he promised.

As the bus pulled away, Devon reached out for his phone and scrolled through his message history until he found Momma.

He scrolled through their message history; mostly announcements of dinner plans and important dates, stickers and gifs. His eyes stopped on a message from nearly a month ago:

MOMMA: Love you always Devon-Devilcake <3333

“Stupid allergies.” Devon’s eyes blurred with tears as he began to text…