Page 34 of Tempt Me

“I guess that would be all right. I’ll email you her itinerary after lunch.”

I shimmied with excitement. “Perfect. Thank you so much!” I hugged her.

She pressed her lips together and brushed imaginary wrinkles out of her blouse. “We’ll see if you’re thanking me when Jamila finds out you’re tagging along. Good luck.”

“Enjoy your lunch!”

I practically skipped down the hallway to my office. I’d found the perfect way to help Jamila and make her forget my mistake.

10

Despite the cocktailsitting on the bar in front of her, Jamila’s expression soured when I sat next to her in the first-class lounge at the airport.

“Didn’t Felicia tell you I was coming along?” I hung my tote on the hook under the bar.

“Yeah, but don’t expect me to be happy about it.”

Signaling the bartender, I said, “I know you’re angry with me. I get it. But I couldn’t pass up this opportunity. We’ll get some great traction on social media, and, hopefully, that’ll push out the negative attention.”

“I don’t fund the camps for social media.” She lifted the glass to her lips, took a healthy swallow, and set it down. “I do it because I wish I’d had a coding camp to go to when I was younger, so I could’ve met other girls like me. And so I could see an example of a Black woman who’d made it in tech.”

I rubbed the goosebumps that popped up on my arms. “I know. I don’t want to disrupt what you’re doing. All I want is to show everyone the good you’re doing. Expand your reach. Maybe other girls will see what you’re doing and seek out something like it in their towns or resolve to reach a hand back to help someone else once they’ve made it.”

“Made it,” she scoffed. “Is that even a thing? Is there ever a platform you can stand on where you think, ‘That’s enough. I’ve made it’? If there is, I’ve never seen it.”

I took a measured sip of my wine. “I think some people are like that. Jackson, for example. He’s happy right where he is, coding and living his best life with his family. But you’re more like my mother, always striving for the next success.” I didn’t say,Never satisfied with what she has. How could she be satisfied with a daughter who couldn’t seem to figure out her life?

“You’re like that too.” She scanned my face. “You could be a socialite, wearing fancy clothes and hosting parties. And sometimes you play that part.” I blushed, remembering the disastrous party at Billie’s. “But you’re not satisfied to do that. You’re always trying to better yourself with all those programs and careers.”

“Huh.” Was she right? Could I not settle on a career because I was always striving for the next thing? The answer didn’t sit right inside me. “I don’t think that’s it. I think I need to find the thing I enjoy doing. And once I do, I’ll be satisfied. Happy.”

She tilted her head. “When you do, tell me what it’s like.”

“I will.” I lifted my drink. “To happiness.”

She clinked her glass against mine. “To happiness.”

The camp tookplace at a residence hall on the University of Texas campus. Felicia told me Jamila stayed in the dorm like the campers, but I’d booked a hotel room nearby. I was half afraid Jamila would kick me out as an uninvited guest and half grossed out by dorm rooms. There was a reason I’d stayed at college only a year.

Inside the beige brick building, I flapped my notebook at my face, thankful for the air conditioning. It was only nine in the morning, but May in Austin was already heating up. I wished I hadn’t thought a silk blouse, blazer, and jeans were an appropriate outfit for a coding camp.

I eased off my jacket and folded it over the back of a chair at the edge of the dining hall where I could watch the girls. They ranged in age from twelve to eighteen, with every shade of skin. At the center of each round dining table, a snarl of power cords from their laptops converged at a surge protector.

I realized my mistake as soon as I spotted Jamila onstage. The clacking of keys and the buzz of conversation halted as soon as she stepped onto the raised platform opposite the cafeteria doors.

My mistake? Thinking I could come to Austin and be unaffected by Jamila’s casual confidence as she sauntered onstage. She wore cutoff jean shorts and a T-shirt with the camp’s logo across her chest. Her toned legs were endless in those shorts. I had to bite my tongue to keep it from rolling out of my mouth like a cartoon wolf.

“Welcome to coding camp!” Jamila’s voice boomed through the speakers to the back of the room. The girls cheered and clapped. When they quieted down, Jamila continued, “It wasn’t that long ago that I was sitting in my room in my grandma’s house teaching myself to code. Back then, I had a thick paperback I’d checked out from the library and a secondhand desktop computer I’d bought with money I’d earned from babysitting and walking dogs. I shared the room with my two little brothers, who teased me for being a nerd. Raise your hand if someone has called you that.”

Many hands went up around the room.

“Well, nerds, let’s embrace our passion and be proud. Let’s take back the wordnerdand celebrate ourselves. Let’s keep on doing what we love and believe in ourselves despite the naysayers who think girls can’t code. Let’s prove them wrong this week.” Her “What do you say?” was drowned out by cheering.

I’d never wanted to be a programmer like my siblings, but that day, I wished I had. I wished I’d found something that would set me on fire like the hundred girls in that room.

The camp director, an energetic Latina about my age, took Jamila’s place on stage and spoke for a few minutes about the week’s coding assignment. Then the girls got to work. The counselors moved among the tables, answering questions. I snapped photo after photo, trying to capture the joy in the girls’ movements and expressions. Jamila strode toward one of the younger girls, who scowled at her laptop’s screen, arms folded. I jogged over to witness the interaction.

“What’s the matter”—Jamila read the girl’s nametag—“Ana Maria?”

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