I walked to the cafeteria’s service doors, where Mrs. Delgado stood in her apron with her hand pressed to her mouth. I took her hand in mine.
“Thank you,” I said, “for teaching me how to mop a floor properly.”
She laughed through her tears. “You were terrible at it, Ella.”
“I was,” I agreed. “But I loved every minute.”
Then I turned and walked toward David’s waiting car, slowly, with a stiff back and silver hair coming loose from its bun. Behind me, a parking lot full of young people was quietly picking up bottles and cleaning up after themselves.
Arthur had been right, as usual. True power never needed to shout.
It only needed to stand quietly on solid ground until the people around it remembered what the ground was for.