Most days, my life spins in a loop of shifts at the diner and watching my little brother after school. I’m used to mostly fading into the background, keeping my head down because there’s no room for mistakes; bills aren’t going to pay themselves.
The community center was meant to be a refuge, a place where the weight of responsibilities could be set aside, if only for a moment. But now, it feels different, charged with an undercurrent of tension that no one seems willing to address directly.
The girl’s friends laugh loudly in the corner, their voices carrying over the quiet hum of the room. I watch the old man shift uncomfortably on his seat, his eyes fixed on his hands.
“Do you think they’ll actually do anything at the meeting?”
I’m startled by the voice beside me. It’s Claire, a regular at the center, her expression mirroring the unease I feel.
“I don’t know,” I reply, my voice low. “But something needs to change.”
Claire nods, her gaze drifting to the group of teenagers. “They act like they own the place.”
Her words hang in the air, a quiet acknowledgment of the imbalance that has taken root here. I think back to the old man, his silent strength eroded by the constant barrage of disrespect.
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