CHAPTER 5
Lila - March
I tried. I really did.
Despite my attempts during the past few weeks, every time I came across an internship offer, I kept comparing it to the youth center. And just like that, they lost their appeal.
Warlington University has a very strict policy when it comes to internships; students have to find a suitable one and get satisfactory results if they want to graduate from their master’s program. So, without an internship in place, anxiety ate at me until I finally gave in and emailed the youth center, asking for more information.
I can still decline, but doing some in-person research won’t hurt.
Warlington Youth Center sits on a quiet street near Main Street, a historical house of red bricks, a black roof, and white windows. As I do a quick perusal of the two-story building from my car, I can’t help but notice it’s enormous. Is that a playground at the back?
I double-check the address my mom texted me earlier and confirm this is the place. With an accelerated pulse, I exit my car and walk across the parking lot to the main entrance. The door is locked, but I can see light coming from the inside.
No Dr. Abner, though.
Let’s hope it stays that way.
I buzz the doorbell to my right, causing an older woman to snap her head up at me from behind the reception desk. A moment later, she presses some kind of button, and the door clicks open.
“Hello, dear. How can I help you?” she asks, adjusting her hijab as she stands. Her smile is warm, her eyes kind, and the soothing sound of her voice instantly puts me at ease.
I smile back. “Hi, I’m Lila Callaghan. I emailed you last week about an internship opportunity with Warlington University?”
Her eyes widen in recognition. “Why, of course! I’m Haniyah, director of Warlington Youth Center. It’s great to meet you, Lila. Let me fetch someone to watch the front desk, and we’ll talk in my office.”
A few minutes later, I’m following Haniyah down a well-lit hallway.
“We’ve reached maximum capacity this year. Forty kids! Can you believe it?” She beams, her passion rubbing off on me the more she talks. “We serve children as young as five, all the way up to eighteen. We organize sports events, art classes, book club meetings, and many other activities. We help them with their homework, too, if they need any extra help. Oh, and lots of outdoor play when the weather cooperates.”
“It sounds amazing,” I say honestly. “I love the children’s drawings on the walls. It’s obvious this is a well-loved place.”
Haniyah looks at me with a mixture of gratitude and kindness. “It really is, which we couldn’t be more thankful for.” She opens a door at the end of the hallway. “We’re here. Take a seat, please.”
Her office is tiny but cozy—a small fireplace to my right, a huge bookshelf to my left, and a crowded desk in front of the double windows. I don’t see any aromatic candles, but it smells like fresh linen and lemons in here.
I lower myself to one of the two chairs in front of her desk as she takes her place behind it.
“Before we get to the boring part where I tell you all the internship requirements, tell me a little about yourself. What made you want to intern here?”
I’ve done enough internships and volunteering gigs to recognize that this is an impromptu, informal interview. And although I tend to feel nervous at those, Haniyah’s presence and the good feeling I got from this place the second I walked in help rein in my nerves.
I give her an honest explanation. “I’ve always felt a strong calling to help others. Children, specifically. I’m graduating from my counseling MA in December, and my plan is to become a youth counselor as soon as I get all my qualifications.”
“That’s admirable,” she says. “I looked over the CV and motivation letter you attached to your email, and I must say, I’m really impressed with your academic background. For such a young woman, you are incredibly talented. Can you tell me more about your volunteering experience at the women’s shelter last summer?”
For the next twenty minutes, Haniyah and I exchange stories about our times working with different community groups. It doesn’t feel like an interview—more like a casual chat with a friend over coffee, sans the coffee.
She tells me about her background as a social worker, and how becoming director of this youth center was a long-term goal she finally achieved.
And then, she sobers up.
“I’ll be honest with you, Lila.” She clasps her hands together over her desk, looking at me intently. “I think you’d be a fantastic fit for Warlington Youth Center. If you share the sentiment, I’d be happy to tell you more about the internship so you can think about it. No pressure, though. We want everyone here to be a hundred percent committed, so if you have any doubts, you can say no. We won’t take it personally.”
I shift on my chair, my heart aching to shout from the rooftops that I know this is the place for me.
I’m a walking contradiction. I’ve been avoiding him for two years, and suddenly I want to intern at a youth center he’s a board member of? His role here isn’t exactly a secret from the public, so what if people find out I’m an intern here and start talking?
It’s what he said about Haniyah being in charge of the interns that makes me think everything will be fine. Because if he isn’t my direct supervisor, other students in my master’s can’t say I’m abusing my privilege to be here.
Right?
“So, what is it going to be?” Haniyah asks, a whisper of a smile on her lips.
Say it. Be brave.
“I certainly share the sentiment,” I tell her genuinely. “I’d love to know more about the internship. Thank you so much for this opportunity.”
“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” She beams. “All right, let’s get down to business. I promise I’ll be quick. I don’t want to take up too much of your time; I know how busy MA students are.”
She does? Does she have children or nieces and nephews who are also in graduate school? I don’t ask because I don’t want her to think I’m prying, but I wonder.
Haniyah turns the screen of her computer so I can see the lengthy document she’s just pulled up.
“This is the internship guide, which I’ll email you later today so you can look it over at home,” she explains. “But the essentials are—three months of consecutive internship starting in August, dedicate at least ten hours of work on-site in the first month and sixteen hours during the remaining two, and attend weekly supervisions and meetings. That’s pretty much it.”
“Sounds good. What would my role entail?”
“You’ll start by shadowing your supervisor in group and one-on-one sessions with the kids and help them with reports and co-organizing workshops.” The more she keeps talking, the more it sounds like an absolute dream. “Then, when we deem you qualified enough, you’ll be on your own with the kids. These sessions will be recorded and reviewed by your supervisor, of course.
“We’re a tight-knit family here. Our kids come from families dealing with all kinds of hardships—financial struggles, parents recovering from addiction, kids whose parents are or have been incarcerated…” She gives me a tender smile. “Their mental health and academic performance are our main priority, but we also do other activities, such as days out in the park or visits to local museums. We want them to know there’s a life out there worth exploring and that they can explore it. They deserve to, no matter what their personal circumstances look like. If you join us, you’ll also have the opportunity to get to know our kids in a more informal setting, like in the playroom or the art room—not just as a youth counselor but as a young woman who can offer them inspiration and encouragement.”
Who’s cutting onions right under my nose?
My eyes start to sting, and I can’t find the words to ask her any questions or even thank her for her explanation.
Because something in my chest opens and tightens at the same time. And then that something sparkles, then burns, then erupts.
The light Mom always talks about.
I’m not a spiritual person, but I recognize the passion sizzling in my chest for what it is—a calling.
My calling.
The place where I’m meant to be right now, the path I’m meant to follow.
I clear my throat, willing my tears to stay locked in because crying at an internship interview must be as unprofessional as it gets.
“Your work and commitment to these children is nothing short of inspiring,” I tell her. “I’d be honored to be part of it.”
“You’ll fit right in. You’ll see,” she assures me with that motherly smile. “Do you have any questions for me? If you can’t think of any right now, we can schedule another visit once you’ve gone over the internship guide and the contract.”
“I do have a couple of questions now if that’s okay. Do you offer any in-house training?”
“Of course! I can’t believe I forgot to tell you about that.” She chuckles. “It’s a pretty standard procedure. You’ll have to pass a background check first. You’ll also have to meet the qualifications of a mental health professional and have a driver’s license. Lastly, we offer an online course and on-site training you’ll have to complete before joining us in August. Does that sound good to you?”
“It sounds great.” I shift on my seat. “You also mentioned I’d have to shadow my supervisor for a while and report to them?”
She nods. “A mental health professional from the youth center will be in charge of training and guiding you through this internship. You’ll have your weekly meetings with them and follow them around for the first few weeks, observing. It doesn’t sound like a lot of fun when I put it like that, but I promise you’ll learn a lot. Think of your supervisor as a fairy godmother of sorts.”
That makes me smile. “Is there any chance that supervisor will be you?”
A girl can dream. Haniyah seems like she’d be a kind, efficient supervisor I could learn a lot from.
“Oh, dear, I’d love to. Unfortunately, my responsibilities as director don’t leave me much room to wiggle anything else in. But worry not. Reed is an excellent professional, and he’d love to supervise such a bright student as you are.”
The air whooshes out of my lungs.
Reed.
I clear my throat. This isn’t happening right now. “Reed Abner?”
“You know him? He didn’t mention you’d be applying. Well, it doesn’t surprise me you’re familiar with him, really. He’s made quite the name for himself, that boy.”
She says it with a soft smile that shows how much she cares about him, but also makes me wonder why she’s calling him a boy when Reed is all man. Even if it weren’t for his giantlike stature or how big he is overall, the way his mere presence commands a room denotes a kind of subtle power only experience and confidence can give.
“He’s, um, he works at my university,” I tell her. She doesn’t need to know about my mom.
She frowns. “He’s not your professor, is he? Because that may present a conflict of interest, which could change things.”
“He’s not my professor. He’s a researcher and supervises PhD students, which I’m not.”
“That’s fine, then. See, we’re currently a little understaffed. We’re making it work while we aim to expand, but currently, Reed is the only person in charge of our Mental Health Department until we get more funding. He does an outstanding job, as you can imagine, but that means he’s the only person here who’s qualified enough to give you the best possible internship experience. If you say he’s not your professor and you’re not his student, then we’re in the clear.”
I gulp. “So, you’re saying there’s no one else here who could be my supervisor?”
“Is there a problem with Reed?” she asks, confusion lacing her words.
“No, no,” I quickly say like a total liar. Because I might have a tiny, little problem with this whole thing, but I don’t want to be an inconvenience when Haniyah is being so welcoming to me. “I was just wondering.”
She eyes me like she doesn’t fully believe me, but she doesn’t press. “Reed is actively trying to expand our Mental Health Department through his research so we can bring more dedicated professionals into the youth center. Not only to this one, but to every other youth center, community center, and foster home in the state. We’re lucky to have countless volunteers who are also social workers, therapists, and youth counselors, but he’s currently the only member in his department who possesses the qualifications and the time to oversee interns. I’m sure you understand.”
“I understand.” My smile wavers. Not because I suddenly don’t want to intern here, but because Dr. Abner being my supervisor complicates things. “I’d love to review the guide and contract with my professor, and I’ll get back to you within a couple weeks. Would that work for you?”
“Absolutely. Take your time, please. It was lovely to meet you, Lila. Oh, before I forget, let me show you around. All the kids are still at school, so it’s the perfect time to see everything before chaos ensues.”
I follow her out of her office and down the same hallway we passed on our way here. “These doors lead to offices and supply closets. That one is Reed’s office, where you’ll be meeting with him if you join us.”
Right. Because meeting with Reed sounds absolutely fantastic.
“And here’s our main room,” she says when we reach an enormous, open room down the hall from the reception desk.
Colorful tables and chairs, both kid and adult-sized, a few new couches and comfortable-looking beanbags, a TV, and a foosball table adorn the room. It’s well-lit, and huge windows on the other side lead to a garden with a playground. It smells like a classroom, taking me right back to childhood.
“This room is incredible,” I breathe out.
“We were only able to afford this renovation last year, so I’m happy you like it. See that door over there?” She points to a far corner of the room. “That hallway leads to the library and the kitchen, where we keep some snacks for the kids. Follow me upstairs.”
We take the stairs, but she tells me there’s also an elevator available in case anyone who’s injured or uses a wheelchair ever needs it.
“All five classrooms are here, as well as the infirmary and two bathrooms. There are a couple bathrooms downstairs, too,” she explains. “I don’t know if you saw, but there’s a playground outside and a community garden.”
“I did. It’s really impressive what you’ve done with this place.”
“Thank you, honey. I’m glad you like our youth center.” She looks at me with a hopeful gleam in her eyes. “Well, I believe that’s all for the tour. Do you have any more questions for me?”
I shake my head. “Not really. You’ve explained everything perfectly.”
And the more time I spend here, the more I’m convinced this is where I’m supposed to be.
Minus Dr. Abner supervising me.
I’m itching to ask Haniyah if there’s absolutely any way someone else can supervise my internship, but her answer was pretty clear. Plus, being so insistent will for sure set off all her alarms, and I don’t want her to think I’m a weirdo.
Once we’re back on the ground level, Haniyah tells the woman at the front desk she can go back to her office, and she takes over once again.
“Let me email you all the paperwork now before I forget,” she tells me, logging into the computer. “It’ll just be a minute. Remind me, what’s your email address?”
I’ve barely just said the words when the front door unlocks behind me.
Haniyah looks up, an easy smile on her face. “Oh, just in time.”
When I glance over my shoulder and lock eyes with him , I’m confident that the universe is laughing in my face.
“Hey,” that familiar deep voice says. He sounds serious, a harsh contrast to Haniyah’s welcoming nature. “Lila.”
I hate everything about this.
“Hi, Dr. Abner.”
There, boundaries. No Reed nonsense will be leaving my mouth anytime soon. Or ever.
I turn to Haniyah, hoping I don’t sound as panicked as I feel. “Thank you so much for taking the time to answer my questions and show me around. I have to get going, but I’ll be in touch.”
“Sure, honey. The pleasure was all mine.” She turns to him. “Lila here is thinking of joining us in August as an intern youth counselor. I told her you’d be in charge of her supervision.”
“Is that right?” he asks slowly, his intense gaze on me.
“I’m thinking about it,” I quickly say. “I… I need to go now, but thank you for your time, Haniyah.”
“No problem, dear. I hope to hear back from you.”
I nod, itching to get out of here.
Dr. Abner’s woodsy scent fills my nostrils as I pass him on my way to the door, and I swear my knees buckle a little.
Get a grip.
With my hand on the handle, I start breathing normally once again, knowing I’m seconds away from getting the hell out of his orbit.
But then that gruff voice behind me says, “Drive safe, Lila.”
And I’m back to square one.