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The afternoon sun streamed through the glass ceiling of the Galleria Mall, casting long shadows across the food court. Wyatt Williams sat at his usual table in front of the Lemon, his fingers delicately working the tuning pegs of his acoustic guitar. The familiar weight of his red sweater felt comforting against his shoulders, and his khakis were perfectly pressed as always. Steam rose from his coffee cup—a carefully crafted latte from Grind Me that he'd been nursing for the past twenty minutes.
Across from him sat two boys who looked anything but comfortable. Huey Freeman, wrapped in his usual earth-tone sweater, maintained his perpetual expression of intellectual disdain. His younger brother Riley sat beside him, his fresh cornrows catching the light as he adjusted his white tank top featuring some rapper Wyatt didn't recognize. The boy's brand new sneakers gleamed with that just-out-of-the-box sheen.
Both brothers glared at Wyatt with the kind of intensity that made him question whether this Big Sibling for a Day Program had been such a good idea after all.
"I'm so glad this Canadian American Big Sibling for a Day Program picked me," Wyatt said, trying to inject enthusiasm into his voice as he fine-tuned his guitar. "I think you two will see I'm pretty cool!"
Huey's expression didn't change, but somehow managed to become even more unimpressed. "Really? Are Canadians such as yourself aware of the systematic oppression and degradation that African Americans are subjected to each and every day?"
Wyatt's fingers froze on the guitar strings. The question hit him like a freight train, and he felt that familiar knot of anxiety forming in his stomach. "Uhh... how about I sing you two a song with my guitar?"
Under his breath, barely audible, Huey muttered, "Damn, and I thought Tom was a bitch."
"Sorry, did you say something Huey?" Wyatt asked, leaning forward slightly.
Huey shook his head dismissively. "Nothing. You just go back to worrying if that barista stiffed you on the foam."
The words struck Wyatt like lightning. His eyes widened in horror as he shot to his feet, nearly knocking over his chair. "She stiffed me on the foam? Ooooooooh!"
Riley couldn't contain his snickering. "Man, I knew these Canadians were soft, but this nigga gay!"
"Riley, just because a black man acts overly effeminate and worries about coffee doesn't automatically mean he's gay," Huey said with the tone of someone delivering a lecture.
"You know I can hear you two, right?" Wyatt said, his voice strained with embarrassment.
"Good, bitch ass!" Riley shot back without missing a beat.
The tension at the table was suddenly interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. A young girl with distinctive afro puffs and a pink zip-up hoodie appeared, looking around frantically. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she was clearly in distress.
"Huey, Riley!" she cried out, relief flooding her voice as she spotted the brothers. Without hesitation, she threw herself at Riley, sobbing into his chest. "I can't find Daddy!"
Riley immediately pushed her away, his face contorting with disgust. "Bitch, don't be crying all over my new shoes! Get off me!"
"Riley, don't call Jazmine a bitch," Huey said flatly.
Riley looked down at his tank top with horror, checking for damage. "But she's acting like one! Eww, she got snot over my shirt!"
"Yeah she's acting like a bitch, but you don't have to call her bitch," Huey replied with his characteristic philosophical detachment.
The girl's sobs intensified. "Do you think Terrorists got him?"
"Statistically speaking, it's more likely a black man like him got shot or arrested," Huey said matter-of-factly.
Riley began cackling with cruel delight. "Ha! I hope he doesn't drop the soap!"
The girl's cries became even louder at this comment, and Wyatt felt his heart break watching her distress. He couldn't just sit there and let this continue.
"Hey, that's probably not what happened. I'm sure she's ok," Wyatt said gently, rising from his seat.
He knelt down to bring himself to the girl's eye level, his voice soft and reassuring. "Can you tell me your name?"
The girl's sobbing began to subside slightly as she looked into Wyatt's kind eyes. "Jazmine Dubois," she sniffled. "And my Dad's name is Tom."
"Jazmine. That's a beautiful name," Wyatt said with genuine warmth. "Jazmine, I can help you find your father. My friend, Ron, works in the mall."
Huey's eyebrows shot up. "You're friends and on a first name basis with a police officer?"
"Ron's a Rent-a-cop," Wyatt explained.
"Somehow, that's even worse," Huey replied with characteristic disdain.
The security office was cramped and smelled faintly of stale coffee and industrial carpet. Wyatt sat with Jazmine on a small bench while Huey and Riley occupied plastic chairs nearby. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in a harsh white glow.
"What if he doesn't come?" Jazmine asked, her voice small and worried.
"He'll come," Wyatt assured her with confidence he didn't entirely feel. "In the meantime, would you like to listen to one of my songs?"
Jazmine nodded eagerly, and Wyatt brought out his guitar. He began to play gently, his fingers finding a simple, soothing melody. As the music filled the small space, Jazmine began to relax, even clapping a little to the rhythm.
Riley rolled his eyes dramatically. "Man, if this gay ass nigga starts singing about someone having a Fast Car, I'm leaving."
Before Wyatt could respond, a voice called out from the doorway.
"Jazmine!"
Tom Dubois stood in the entrance, his arms spread wide, relief written across his face. He looked exactly like what Wyatt had expected—a well-dressed, anxious man who probably worried about everything.
"Daddy!" Jazmine cried, her face lighting up with pure joy.
She ran into Tom's arms, and they embraced tightly. Watching the reunion, Wyatt felt a warm glow of satisfaction spread through his chest. He stood up, placing his hands on his hips in a classic superhero pose, feeling genuinely proud of himself for the first time all day.
"I guess I am pretty cool after all, huh?" he said, a smile spreading across his face.
"No," Huey said flatly.
"Nigga, you gay," Riley added for good measure.
Without another word, both brothers walked away, leaving Wyatt standing there with his hands still on his hips. His expression shifted from triumph to annoyance as he watched them go, feeling like they had just rained on his parade. Despite helping reunite a father and daughter, despite doing something genuinely good, he was still somehow the uncool Canadian who worried too much about coffee foam.
But as he watched Jazmine and Tom together, still holding each other tightly, Wyatt decided that maybe being cool wasn't the most important thing after all.