****

Sometime later, the boisterous conversation at the table helps to drown out the pounding of my heartbeat—almost. It helps to have all my family here with me. Their confidence in me winning tonight makes me almost believe I will too. I try to convince myself that even if I don’t win, having everyone I love right now with me is still worth it. But I really want to win. I can finally admit that to myself now. I begin to tap my leg as a result of nervous energy coursing through my body. A large hand squeezes it, halting my movement. I turn to my left to see a devilish smirk and a pair of sparkling green eyes staring at me. He’s silently telling me how proud he already is of me, and that I have nothing to be nervous or ashamed about. I’m not even sure how I can tell he’s communicating all of that, but I know. I notice the beating of my heart relaxes and the anxious knot in my belly subsides slightly. It’s still there, but much less ferocious. Jeremy leans down and presses his lips to my cheek.

“Eat. You don’t want to make your thank you speech on an empty stomach,” he says, before pressing his lips to my cheek again and pulls back.

“What will you do if I don’t?” I ask, feeling bold all of a sudden. Even with all my nerves and the anxiousness of this night, I get off on teasing him.

“You already know the answer to that,” he growls low in my ear, squeezing my thigh again.

The flutter in my belly is no longer due to nervousness about the award, but now it’s all about the man sitting beside me. I grin as I pick up my fork and knife to cut into the chicken breast.

“He’s a keeper,” a feminine voice to my right sings.

I look over at a smirking Camille, my book agent. She’s the only non-family member at this table.

“What are you talking about?”

Her bright brown eyes glint with a familiar mischievousness as her full, pink tinted lips quirk into a knowing smile. “Don’t act coy with me. I’ve been watching you two since you arrived tonight,” she says just above a whisper. “And he had your people fly in just to celebrate you,” she says, nodding to everyone at the table. “But I’ll mind my business for now. Your category is next.”

My brows crinkle in confusion as I watch her turn her attention to the front of the room. I too, swivel my head in that direction and realize the speaker is now talking about my literary category. This is confirmed when I look behind the speaker and see a copy of my book’s cover along with three other young adult book covers, belonging to my fellow nominees. The butterflies in my stomach begin again and I can barely make out what the speaker is saying. All I can see is my book cover that features a young girl with skin the color of cedar wood, wearing an afro puff next to her golden retriever, Sidekick, poised to take on the world. It’s a vision that first took over my imagination at the tender age of thirteen when I was in a very dark place. Years later, it’s being embraced by some of the most renowned figures in literature. Who would have thought? The image before me blurs as my eyes water and all sounds drift to the background.

“That’s you, doll,” Jeremy says excitedly.

I hear his deep whisper in my ear. Blinking a few times, I look over at the shit-eating grin on his face as he claps. “Wh-what?”

“You won!”

My eyes bulge as his words sink in. I look around the table and see Coral, Stacey, Liam, and Andre on their feet, applauding. All eyes are on me. Before I can fully comprehend the situation, Camille is standing to my right and Jeremy is up on his feet, helping me out of my chair. I take a deep breath to calm my scattered nerves at the precise moment Jeremy squeezes my arm and plants a kiss on my cheek. It’s quick, but gives me the bolster of reassurance I need in this moment to go up and accept my award. On wobbly legs, I make my way to the podium and accept the heavy crystal statuette with my pen name and title of my book engraved on the sterling silver name plate. I stare at it for a few seconds, allowing this moment to sink in before I turn to the audience to begin my speech. I place the award on top of the podium, I pull out the note cards I jotted down some acknowledgements on, in case I won, but now those notes seem lacking. I look out onto the sea of expectant eyes and feel the usual nervousness that creeps in whenever I’m around a crowd of people I don’t know. Scanning the audience, I recognize a number of literary heavyweights and begin to feel out of place.  That is, until my eyes collide with his. They’re glistening with pride mixed with a hint of cockiness that tells me he knew I would win. Even from where I’m standing, his presence is enough to center me. I take another deep breath.

“You know, if the literary world liked my books so much why on earth would they punish me by making me give a speech? I’m a writer, not a public speaker.” I grin as the audience laughs at my nervous quip. “But in all seriousness, I, ah, I began writing stories at the age of nine. My love of reading spurned my own desire to create a world where I felt less weak, less vulnerable, and more like I belonged. The real world around me wasn’t very welcoming to a girl from one of the poorest neighborhoods in this very city, who loved reading science fiction. But even in those stories, it was often difficult to see someone who looked like me until I picked up my first comic book with an image of Storm on the cover. I remember that feeling of finding a story with a character who looked like me, save for the white hair.” I grin and the audience laughs again. “I first thought of Danica’s story well over a decade ago at a very, very dark place in my life.” I pause, looking toward Jeremy for reassurance. Sure enough, his eyes are planted on me, encouraging me. I shift my gaze to see Coral who has tears in her eyes and before I know it, I have to quickly wipe away tears that escape my own eyes. Clearing my throat, I continue. “There were many days I wasn’t sure if I’d live to see the next one or if I even wanted to. No thirteen-year-old should ever feel that way. I know that now, but back then all I had were my made-up stories. I truly believe it was the possibility of being able to get this story out on paper one day that kept me going. That faith and perseverance is what I wanted to give to little girls through publishing Danica’s Travels. They needed to know that you can survive and make the world around you a better place. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Danica and thankfully, for an older sister who never gave up on me when I needed her the most.” Now I pause to see Coral actually crying.  “I want to thank my sister, Coral and my other sister, Stacey, for accepting me.” I toss Stacey a wink and she also has tears in her eyes. “Thank you to the counselors and workers at Helping Hands who helped me rebuild my life after tragedy and my bad-ass agent, Camille, whose belief and commitment to making room for diverse books in the literary world may be even stronger than mine.” I grin, looking at Camille who is beaming. “I’ll never forget how adamant you were and how hard you worked to get Danica’s story into the readers’ hands, or how you refused to let any aspect of her be changed to appeal to mainstream audiences,” I say looking directly at her. “And to the man I came here with tonight…” I pause and inhale deeply, looking at Jeremy. Once again, my vision blurs. “In the short time I’ve known you, you have made me a better writer, a better friend, and a better person. I don’t know what the future has in store for us, but I will thank God for every day I’ve have been blessed to have you in my life.” I quickly wipe more tears from my eyes.

“One final thing.” I look back over the rest of the crowd. “Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I’d ever be up at this podium receiving such a prestigious award for doing what comes to me naturally—writing. But I know that I have been given a gift so that I can give back. And for this reason, I have decided to use the proceeds of this award and a portion of my book royalties to open a Helping Hands charity right here in New York. Unfortunately, recent news of young Black and Hispanic girls being kidnapped or going missing in the Bronx has been widely overlooked. It is highly suspected that these girls are being trafficked and no one outside of these communities is doing much about it. This must end, and I aim to use my voice, my money, and the resources I have available to aid in bringing these girls home and seeing that our communities remain safe places for children to grow up. Thank you for this,” I say, holding up the award and stepping back from the podium.

My breath catches when I see my whole table standing and applauding wildly, without caring what anyone else thinks. Then one by one more audience members rise to their feet and applaud. Overcome with emotion, I finally let a few more tears fall freely as I cradle the award in my arms. Once again, on shaky legs I step down off of the main stage and I’m greeted by strong arms. I have no idea how he made it from the table over to the stage in that short amount of time, but I’m grateful that he did.

Jeremy pulls back, cupping my chin. He looks deeply into my eyes. “You did good, doll.”

That causes more tears to fall and I let them, welcoming a feeling I only have whenever I’m in his arms, wash over me.