10. The first assembly
THE FIRST ASSEMBLY
JUNIOR YEAR
S he held the picture like it might dissolve if she squeezed too hard.
In the photo, her mother was laughing, head tilted back, eyes scrunched closed, the way Spring always preferred her – unguarded, alive, unfinished. The light hitting her face highlighted the joy in her eyes.
Spring sighed and set the photo back on her desk before the tears could fall. Her laptop sat open to the side, editing software paused on a timeline she’d been tinkering with since midnight. She clicked play.
Footage rolled, nothing special: a slow pan across a street, a stoplight blinking red, dust in the air.
She froze the frame and stared.
That was it. That feeling.
Her hand fell to the photo of her mother, flipping it over. On the back, written in her mother’s handwriting, was the quote she’d read a hundred times but still needed the reminder of: “What’s true, will return.”
That sentence had cracked something open in her. Made her believe seeing wasn’t passive; it was power.
She dragged the clip into place and adjusted the cut, a faint smile on her face all the while.
Once she was done, she pulled out her phone and started recording.
“Hey, y’all,” she greeted softly, instinctively slipping into something calmer.
“Quick check-in before school. Today’s about noticing the quiet stuff, the things people skip past because they’re in a rush.
I’ll show you later.” She ended the vlog before it could feel like a lie.
Her headphones were already on when her father knocked on her door. No music played, but she kept them on anyway. “Nairobi,” he called out. “It’s time.” He came in a moment later, keys in hand, already dressed for the day. He paused when he saw the photo.
She pretended not to notice.
“You ready?” he asked.
She nodded, eyes on her screen.
The drive was quiet.
She stared out the window, watching Beaumont slide past; trees, porches, the same streets she’d memorized and outgrown.
Her father talked about traffic, schedules – nothing that mattered.
She heard none of it, having finally turned on the music of her headphones.
My Cherie Amour by Stevie Wonder played repeat, until they got to Houston. Her new would-be home.
Her dad had finally given up on talking to her, which made the ride more enjoyable. She was leaving her life behind and she was trying to be okay with that, but she wasn’t. None of it.
It wasn’t long before they were in Houston proper. The High School for Preforming and Visual Arts rose up ahead of them, bigger than she expected. Louder. Alive in a way Beaumont never quite managed.
Her stomach fluttered. She wanted to protest, but she didn’t want to go back home.
She turned to look at her dad, then back at the school, before turning off the song.
“You’ll be fine. sweetheart,” her father said, pulling to the curb. “Your cousin’s around here somewhere.”
She nodded again, exiting the car without a goodbye.
Inside, the hallways buzzed. The first thing to catch her eye was the creativity: there were murals everywhere, students working on permanent pieces in classrooms, and she could hear music down a corridor being played almost at a professional level.
She scanned the faces around her. No sign of Cameron yet.
Spring arrived at HSPVA halfway through the semester, already tired of explaining herself. But encouraged by the creativity she was now taking in.
The front office smelled like copier toner and burnt coffee. Beige walls, framed awards. A secretary, smiling too brightly, slid her a clipboard. “Have a seat,” she said. “Someone will be right with you.”
Spring sat, her knee bouncing, expression hardened. She hated waiting rooms – hated places where adults decided who you were before you opened your mouth.
That’s when the hallway outside the office caught her attention. Laughter – loud, unrestrained, reckless. She glanced up through the glass.
Three boys moved down the hall like they’d choreographed it. Cameron first, of course, talking with his whole body, hands moving, smile big enough to bend gravity. A dark-skinned smaller boy beside him, laughing too hard, feeding the moment. And then?—
Him. The tall one.
He wasn’t performing. He walked with a calm confidence that felt earned. Shoulders broad, posture relaxed, face open in that way that made people want to trust him. His smile – when it came – was easy, almost private, like it was meant only for you.
She noticed the way his eyes softened when Cameron talked. The way he leaned in when the other boy joked. The way he looked… present.
And then their eyes connected.
She turned away quickly, but noticed from the corner of her eye that he was still looking. Suddenly a man who looked like an assistant principal approached the trio.
“Let’s move it, gentlemen.” She could hear.
The boys scattered, Cameron shooting the assistant principal a grin that said worth it before disappearing down another corridor. The tall one glanced back once—just once—and for a split second, his eyes met hers through the glass.
The moment was brief, but loaded. Spring’s chest fluttered, surprising her. She hadn’t been excited about this school. Not the commute, not the pressure, not the idea of starting over mid-year. But suddenly, she was curious.
She heard her name. “Nairobi Ellison?”
She stood and followed the voice into the principal’s office.
The man behind the desk was in his late 50s, white with ginger red hair. He was highly manicured, neat in the way that screamed control; spotless desk, photos set at ninety-degree angles, diplomas aligned perfectly on the wall.
He smiled. “Welcome, I’m Dr. Coulston.”
She sat without being told. He asked her about her transfer, grades and interests.
“It says here you want to go to school to be a visual arts major. That just so happens to be my area of expertise. While there’s no doubt from your video interviews that you have talent, and your cousin is a rising star.
We have high standards in this department and we need?—”
“I’m sorry, that can’t possibly be true.”
“Are you saying that we don’t have high standards?”
She answered honestly. “I want to direct,” she said. “Judging by this office, you know nothing about visual arts.”
Disbelief was etched into his face. “And why do you say that?”
“For starters, this office layout is wrong.”
His eyebrow lifted. “Excuse me?”
She gestured around the room. “Your desk blocks the window. You’re cutting off your own light. If you moved it ten degrees to the left, you’d control the room better. People would feel they’re being invited instead of interrogated.”
Silence. Her father was about to interject, but then the principal laughed. “Interesting,” he mused. “What else?”
She leaned forward, energized now. “The awards are impressive, but they’re placed too high. They intimidate instead of inspire. If you lowered them, students would feel like they could reach that level instead of just admire it.”
He studied her differently after that. “Miss Ellison,” he said, “Welcome to HSPVA.”
She shrugged. “Good. Can I get to class?”
The principal pointed her and her father to the registrar, where they filled out a few papers, and she was on her way.
When her father was gone, Spring exhaled. She was hormonal. Angry. Moody. Homesick. Excited. Terrified. An emotional wreck with a sharp eye and no patience for bullshit.
As she stepped into the hallway for the first time as a student, the noise swallowing her whole, she felt it: this place was going to change her. She didn’t know how yet, but she knew she was ready.
She examined the hallways. Momma would like this school.
She admired all the creative projects along the corridor as she wandered. HSPVA was a pipeline of excellence to Hollywood, music and the arts worldwide. Many singers, choreographers and film directors had graced these halls. Beyoncé had been a student here, and that’s all that needed to be said.
She took a step forward and collided with someone solid. “Oh, sorry,” she said quickly.
It was him. Tall, lanky, skin that looked like rich walnut. He smiled, not too big, but genuine. “It’s cool,” he said. “You new?”
She nodded, unsure of anything else at the moment.
The boy hesitated, then said, “You’re Cameron’s cousin, right?”
She laughed lightly. “I am.”
“I wasn’t—” he scratched the back of his neck. “I wasn’t trying to call you that. I just don’t know your name.”
“Nairobi, but back home, everyone calls me Nai,” she said, offering her hand.
“Preston.”
Their hands met. The shake lingered a beat longer than necessary, neither willing to pull away.
“Nice to meet you,” he said.
“You too.”
Footsteps thundered down the hall.
“NAAAAAI!” Cameron appeared like a hurricane – arms wide, grin bigger than the hallway. He wrapped her up in a hug that smelled of cologne and confidence. “You made it!” he said. “I told them my cousin was coming.”
The dark-skinned kid with them earlier appeared and slid in immediately. “Oh, you didn’t mention she was fine. My name is Brian. If I’m blacker the berry, you must be sweeter the juice. Why don’t we go together and make this thing official?”
Spring blinked. Cameron groaned. Preston stepped back, smiling despite himself.
“Brian,” Cameron warned.
“I’m just saying, two dark-skinned Nubian gods” Brian said. “We could rule the world, baby.”
Cameron pushed him to the side then wrapped his arm around his cousin as they walked to her first class. “What’s your schedule?” She handed it over. “Bet,” he said. “Sweet, you got Momma A.”
“Momma A?”
“Miss Avery, the coolest teacher in school. Don’t worry about it, you’re with us now.”
She glanced at Preston, catching his eyes that were already focused on her. And something small, invisible, inevitable, locked into place. She didn’t know it yet, but she’d remember this hallway forever.