There are no trees, except for a line of impossibly tall palms lining the side of the road. The park across the street and down the hill hogs all the nearby shade with its few clusters of scraggly sycamores. I get out of my new blue hybrid, beeping it locked. I have to keep Dalton safe. Sugar lasted only a few months before I sacrificed her on the altar of stupidity. I pat Dalton’s roof, silently promising to be more vigilant. My hand still on Dalton, I look up at what appears to be a six story white apartment building. I scan the parking lot and minimal lawn before I see the sign flanking the back door of the ground floor. HEYA: Helping Everyone Young Achieve. Deep breath. This is the place. I’ve arrived. I look down at myself. Jeans, ironed green button-down worn open over a crisp white T. Casual, but clean. Confident, but down to earth. Boy, did my wardrobe raise some eyebrows in class today.
