Page 40 of Brazen Being It

Her words startle me, and I laugh—really laugh, the sound strange and wonderful in my mouth. “That obvious, huh?”

She nods, lips twitching. “Sweetheart, when a girl carries tension in her shoulders like you do, it’s a miracle you haven’t cracked in half.”

Acadia snorts, not looking up from her drawing. “She means you always look like you’re waiting to bolt.”

She’s not wrong. The truth is, I’ve been waiting to run for as long as I can remember. I grew up learning to watch the exits, count my steps, keep my back to the wall. Even now, surrounded by warmth and safety, the instinct lingers.

But the way they say it—gentle, teasing, but not unkind—makes me feel seen. Not judged. Not pitied. Seen.

“I guess I’ve always had a reason to run,” I admit, voice low, honest.

“Not anymore,” Tessie says, her voice warm and iron-strong, like honey poured over steel. There’s something final in it—a promise, not just a hope.

I want to believe her. I want it more than I want anything.

There’s a long, golden pause. The porch swing creaks outside, a bee drones lazily past, the window and my heart feels like it’s finally found a steady rhythm. I close my eyes and let the quiet wash over me.

“So,” Acadia says, glancing up from her sketchbook, “what are you doing about school?”

The question knocks the air out of me. I open my eyes, blinking. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, doodling a swirl in the margin. “Like… college. Or anything. You’re what, nineteen?”

I nod, the old shame curling in my gut. “Almost,” I say, suddenly feeling like the youngest, smallest version of myself.

Acadia keeps drawing, her voice casual. “I’m just curious. I’m looking at programs, but Mom says I have to finish high school first.”

Tessie laughs, that warm, bubbling sound. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

But I don’t laugh. College is a word that never belonged to me. It belonged to kids with packed lunches, with moms who packed backpacks and checked homework. Not to girls who learned to stay invisible, who counted bruises instead of report cards.

“I never really thought about it,” I say. I’m not embarrassed—not exactly—but I’m exposed. I pick at my finger nails in a nervous habit waiting for the world to shrink.

Tessie pauses, knife in mid-air. “Why not?”

I shrug, eyes on my bare feet. The wood is warm under my soles, solid. “It just wasn’t… an option.”

There’s a careful silence, thick but not awkward. Tessie sets the apple aside, wipes her hands on her apron, and stands. She gives me that look—half stern, half heartbreakingly tender, all mama bear. “That’s bullshit.”

My head snaps up. “Excuse me?” Oh no, what have I done?

“You heard me. You’re smart, Cambria. You’ve got a fire in you. Don’t let the life you came from decide the one you build now. You deserve every chance. Every dream. Don’t let anyone—especially not yourself—tell you otherwise.”

I don’t know what to say. No one has ever talked to me like this. Not with conviction, not with faith. Not with belief in me.

She softens, her voice quieter. “You don’t have to decide anything today. But you should know—there’s nothing you can’t do, if you want it.”

The words fill up in my belly. Part of me wants to protest, to run, but the bigger part—the hungry, hopeful part—wants to reach out and hold on.

“Tell you what,” Tessie says, brushing her hands together. “Tomorrow, I’ll drive you over to the community college. No pressure. Just walk around. See if it sparks anything.”

Acadia grins, triumphant. “Their arts building is gorgeous. I sneak in there sometimes—totally worth it.”

I open my mouth to object, to spill the truth, but the words tangle in my chest. Finally, my truth tumbles out. “I… I’m not able to take those kinds of classes. I don’t have a GED. I didn’t finish high school. Missed too many days.”

Tessie waves me off. “Then we start there. One step at a time. That’s how anything real gets done.”

Her words are gentle but unyielding. I nod before I can stop myself. “Okay,” I whisper. The word tastes dangerous—like hope.

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