Nia continued toward the building. Ryan called after her. Two buses today or three? Trevor answered for her. Depends whether the city sponsors transfers.
Their laughter followed Nia through the glass doors. She did not look back. That had become part of the ritual. Trevor pushed. Madison filmed.
Ryan laughed. Derek made the space around them feel smaller. Ashley mostly watched. And Nia kept walking. She had learned that some people mistook dignity for weakness because dignity did not entertain them.
Inside, Wellington smelled faintly of coffee, polished floors, and new carpet. Brass donor plaques lined the central hall. Hail Meridian construction appeared on more than one of them. Nia had noticed the name before. She had never connected it to Trevor.
Not yet. She moved toward the student lounge. A rolling cart squeaked around the corner ahead of her. Eleanor Price, 64, worked in Wellington's cafeteria. She was carrying two stacked boxes of disposable cups when one wheel of the cart caught the edge of a floor mat.
The cart jerked. Eleanor stumbled. One box slid sideways. Nia dropped her bag and reached her before she hit the floor. I've got you.
Eleanor caught Nia's forearm. The box crashed open. Paper cups scattered across the hallway. Students stepped around them. One young adult in a business jacket glanced down, then continued toward the elevators.
Nia crouched. You okay? Eleanor exhaled. My pride is injured. That usually heals.
Eleanor laughed. Nia gathered the cups. Trevor's group came through the doors behind them. Ryan stepped over one of the rolling cups. Careful, Nia said.
You'll slip. Ryan looked down at her. Thanks, Mom. Trevor smirked. Madison filmed the cups across the floor.
Ashley hesitated. For one second, Nia thought she might help. Then Trevor said, Come on. And Ashley followed. Eleanor watched them disappear.
They give you trouble? Nia stacked the last cups. Not worth talking about. That's not what I asked. Nia smiled faintly.
Eleanor's expression softened. You're too kind to people who haven't earned it. Nia stood and lifted the box back onto the cart. I don't think kindness works like that. Eleanor stared at her for a second.
Then she squeezed Nia's hand. You get to class. Nia picked up her bag. By noon, the rain had thinned to mist. Nia sat alone at a corner table in the student cafe, eating the lunch Denise had packed.
Rice, vegetables, chicken from the community kitchen. Nothing fancy. Nothing wasted. Madison passed behind her. She stopped.
What is that smell? Nia didn't look up lunch. Ryan pulled out the chair across from her without asking. From the soup kitchen? Community kitchen.
Same thing. No, Nia said. It isn't. Trevor sat beside Ryan. You work there for volunteer hours?
I work there because people need help. Madison leaned against the table. That is so wholesome. The word sounded like an insult. Nia closed the container.