I follow Miles' line of vision, noticing a lone Black teenage boy sitting on a park bench. He has a basketball between his feet as he watches a bunch of other teenagers play on the court.

I'm slowly starting to gather materials for my internship application. The first part of my portfolio is interviewing people on the street, or more specifically, Black people on the street. I want to take pictures of as many young Black teenagers as possible while also getting a few quotes to put with the image as well.

Surprisingly, as I'd been leaving my apartment that afternoon, Miles had also been heading out after finishing up working with Talia. He'd seen me leaving and inquired where I was going, noticing my camera slung around my body. When I'd told him, he'd asked if it was okay for him to tag along. Needless to say, I had agreed.

We've been walking up and down the streets of Bedford-Stuyvesant in Brooklyn, trying to find at least one person that I can talk to. But it hasn't been going as well as I'd hoped it would. The people I've approached so far will either turn their noses up at me, or they are extremely skeptical of talking to me, which I wholeheartedly understand.

The boy that Miles has pointed out can't be a day over fifteen, which is exactly the age that I need. He also doesn't look too unfriendly with an expression one of rapt enthusiasm as he watches the basketball game, occasionally letting out a hoot when someone makes a basket. Without letting any more of my doubts convince me to turn around and go back home, I walk steadily over to him, Miles hanging back so it doesn't look too intimidating.

"Hi," I say, smiling at him. The boy looks up once and then turns his attention back to the game before doing a double-take. His mouth falls open a little before he coughs out awkwardly, giving me a half-smile in return. I chuckle at his expression.

"Hey."

"I know this might sound weird, but I'm doing a sort of project," I explain, pointing to my camera as proof. "And I was wondering if I could maybe ask you a question?" The boy looks around nervously, and I frown, searching my brain for something else to say that can hopefully pacify him. I'm not a journalism major, and I have no idea how to conduct interviews with strangers, which is probably the reason why I'm having such terrible luck today.

"My name is Evie, and I go to NYU," I ramble, the boy raising his brows at me. "Uh—I just wanted to ask you a question about being Black in New York."

That gets his attention and he shifts his body towards me. "What about it?"

I relax, realizing he's slowly becoming interested in what I need from him. "With the murder of Jermaine Bowers." His face scrunches up at the name, clearly becoming uncomfortable, but I barrel on. "I just wanted to ask if you ever feel unsafe walking around?"

The boy blows out a breath. "Hell yeah. Every time I leave the house, my mom gives me this look, as if she's trying to memorize my face or some shit." He shakes his head, clearly upset. "It freaks me out because I don't want her to ever have to bury me. It's just–a mom shouldn't have to bury her son, it should always be the other way around. That's the way it's supposed to be." Quickly typing out his response on my phone, it breaks my heart to hear the misery in his voice. He's so young. Someone so young shouldn't have to worry about things like that.

"Thank you," I say softly, pulling my camera around. "Do you mind letting me take a picture of you?" He nods, and I bend over, looking through the lens as he looks straight at the camera. He isn't smiling, his face set in a grim expression, one that mirrors the quote he's just given me.

"What's your name?" I ask, putting the camera down.

"Samuel."

I give him a sympathetic smile. "I hope you know that the stuff you just told me—that look in your eyes as you talked about your mother burying you. All of that anger. You can use it. You can use it to make some sort of difference." Samuel nods at my words, clearly taken aback by my forceful tone.

He quirks his lips. "Nice meeting you, Evie."

Walking back to Miles, I feel almost responsible in a way. I want to get Samuel's voice out there. I want not only New York but America as a whole to understand the fear in his voice, and the look of desperation in his eyes.

"Did it go well?" Miles asks once I've caught up to him.

I shake my head. "No." He looks surprised, parting his lips to say something but I send him a sad smile. "His name is Samuel and he's terrified of dying."

Miles sucks in a breath. "I can't imagine hearing whatever he said, are you okay?"

Am I okay? The answer should be a simple yes or a no, but I can't answer with such a simple word like that. I know I will probably never experience that same amount of fear that Samuel or any other Black person in this country will experience. Quintin had been right about one thing. My skin isn't as dark as many of the people that are being oppressed. But, that doesn't mean just because I've been offered some form of privilege, that it allows me to sit back and be ignorant.

I can use it to bring everything to light. I can use it to finally give a voice to people like Samuel.

I look over at Miles who is watching me intently, waiting for me to answer.

"I will be."

• • •

As I walk through the front door of my apartment, I almost jump at the sight of Veronica sitting on the couch. At this time she's usually in class, before heading over to teach a session at the gym where she works. But instead, she is stuffing her face with chocolate ice cream and sobbing while watching 13 Going on 30.

"Ronnie, are you okay?" I ask tentatively, stepping out of my shoes and padding over to the couch. Her face is blotchy and red from sobbing, her mascara all clumped under her lashes. She looks like a wreck, her wavy hair is tied up in a bun that isn't holding up much as pieces of her hair are falling out of the elastic. It looks as if she's been in the same position for a few hours at most. "Did you skip class and work?"

She sniffs, rubbing the sleeve of her sweater against her nose. "I-I went to class," she stutters out. "And I had someone cover m-my shift."

"Why?"

Veronica sucks in a breath. "I got all of my housing documents for Paris, so now it's real. I'm leaving."

My gaze softens as Veronica chokes out another sob, burying her head in her hands. "And I still haven't told Talia. I'm such an awful friend. I sit there, and nod along as she rambles on and on about things we can do once we graduate, without telling her that those things might have to happen without me."

"You're not a bad friend," I reply indignantly, sinking into the couch cushion beside her.

Veronica looks at me from under her tear-stained lashes. "If we hadn't gotten drunk that night, I wouldn't have said anything to you. That makes me a shitty friend."

I mull over her words for a moment. "I don't think I ever told you that I'm fucking proud of you." Veronica looks surprised, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "My best friend got a job in Paris working for a high-profile magazine. That's insane, and I can't think of anyone else who deserves it. You've worked so hard since the day I met you to make something like this happen. I'm sorry I never told you that earlier."

Fresh tears spring in her eyes as a broken sob leaves her mouth. "You mean that?"

"With everything in me. I'm so proud to call you my friend. and I know you're going to kickass in Paris."

She sniffs, wiping away her tears before launching herself into my arms and making us fall back into the cushions as we dissolve into a fit of laughter. "You think Talia will feel the same?" she asks after a moment.

"Without a doubt," I say firmly. "You shouldn't feel obligated to be scared to tell her something that amazing, Ronnie. We both love you so much, and yeah, maybe Talia will be a little upset." Veronica stiffens in my arms, and I rub my hand over her back. "But, she'll get over it, and we'll be at that airport to see you off."

"I started talking to Olivia again," she suddenly blurts out. My eyebrows fly to the top of my hairline as I pull back to look at Veronica's sheepish expression.

"Really?"

She nods sullenly, leaning back against the couch with a complex look on her face. "She called me last night and we just talked for a couple of hours." She lets out a heavy sigh. "I'm just really confused because she's the one who wanted the break, and now . . . she's telling me that she misses me."

I can't help the sudden anger that washes over me. I've met Olivia a handful of times, and she's extremely nice, and it's easy to see that she's madly in love with Veronica, but I can't help but feel just a bit wary of her now. I don't want Veronica to get hurt again, and maybe I'm wrong for thinking this, but I just hope that Olivia doesn't try and convince Veronica to stay in New York.

I know Veronica can make her own decisions, and I know she won't let herself be swayed into something she doesn't want to do—but it just makes me wonder what Olivia's true intentions are.

"Do you want my opinion?" I ask. Veronica nods, looking at me expectantly. "I think you should take it slow with her. Don't forget what she said the first time, but also listen to what she's saying now. At the end of the day, you're the only one who can decide how to move forward with Olivia." Veronica looks deep in thought as she considers my words.

"You're right," she finally says, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you."

I cuddle up next to her, resting my head on her shoulder with a smile. "You don't have to thank me, Ronnie. It's what I'm here for." I glance back at the television where Jenna Rink is tearfully trying to win back Matt before he has to walk down the aisle. "How about we watch something else that won't make us sad."

Veronica lets out a laugh, nodding her head as she reaches for the remote. "How did your interviews go?" she asks, flicking through the different action movie options on Netflix.

"It was brutal, Ronnie." After my interview with Samuel, Miles and I continued to walk around and I managed to score a short interview with three more teenagers. All of their answers to my questions had broken my heart even more than Samuel's had. By the time we'd gotten back on the train to head home, I was fighting tears.

I've managed to complete the first half of my application, but I still don't know how I'm going to be able to complete the second half without completely falling apart.

Veronica gives me a melancholy look, squeezing my shoulder. "You're one of the strongest people I know, Eve. I know you're going to knock this application out of the park and get that internship."

I smile gratefully at her, getting comfortable as we decide on watching the first Taken movie.

I know today isn't even the tip of the iceberg, and I also know the farther I continue to go, the worse it is going to get. But, Veronica is right, I'm strong and I know I can handle it.

I just hope I can survive it.