this—really good at it. She’d heard parts of the speech before, of course, had seen bits of it on TV, but it was smart and substantial and also made it clear that he really wanted to hear from the audience, and cared what they had to say. And he was funny, too—he got everyone clapping and laughing again after the director had almost put them to sleep.
Then the town hall part of the program started, and a bunch of Max’s staff dispersed through the crowd with microphones. Both adults and teens asked questions and raised ideas: about schools and how overcrowded they were, about health care, about after-school care, about jobs and job-training programs, about access to mental health services, about the police. He got some tough questions, but she was proud of him for how he handled them—he listened, he didn’t get defensive, and he gave honest answers whenever he could.
And then a tall, lanky kid toward the back took a microphone.
“My name is Jerome Thomas. I . . . um . . . last year I got in some trouble at school, and I served some time. It wasn’t . . . Well, anyway, I don’t want to ever have to do that again. But I don’t want that to brand me forever, you know? But I don’t know how to get away from it: jobs ask you if you’ve been arrested, and I know people are going to look different at me at school. What can I do? Where can kids like me get help?”
Olivia looked at the stage without seeing it. She felt so bad for this kid, and she understood him so well. The world was stacked against him—she hoped he had people around him who would support him through this, and help him succeed and thrive, despite his mistakes, like she had. But no matter what, he had a hard road ahead. She slid a hand in her bag to see if she had her card case with her. She’d ask if someone on Max’s staff could run back over to the kid and hand him her card so she could try to help him.
“Thank you so much for asking that question, Jerome,” Max said. “I’m doing my best to get a bill through the Senate to help people like you—one thing I especially want to do is to ban that box you have to check if you’ve been arrested; some states have banned it already, but I want to do this nationwide.” Max paused for the applause to die away. “But as for what you can do, I know there’s someone in the audience today who has some expertise on that . . .” Max looked straight at her, that smile still on his face.
At first, Olivia didn’t understand what was going on. And then she realized, and fury swept over her. Had Max really called on her, spontaneously, in front of this huge crowd, and the press, to talk about one of the most difficult experiences of her life? For what, to give him street cred, or something?
She shook her head at him. But instead of looking away, he put on that smiling, pleading look, like he did when he wanted the last dumpling at dim sum, or when he wanted to watch one of his comic book movies. And the worst part was, it had usually worked on her before. Did this man really fucking think his stupid puppy dog eyes would convince her to rip open a wound in front of a huge audience? She shook her head again and glared at him, and he seemed to finally get the picture.
“My office can definitely help you,” Max said to Jerome. “Someone will give you contact information before you leave, and we can get you connected with services that can help, like getting you hooked up with mentors who can help guide and advise you, and job-training programs. But one of the reasons we’re all here is that we need to do a lot more. Does anyone have any other great ideas for me about ways we should be helping Jerome and people like him?”
Olivia would be impressed with Max’s recovery right there if she hadn’t been so angry that it felt like actual smoke was coming out of her ears.
Was everyone in this whole room staring at her? She certainly felt like they were. They were staring at her like Max had. All these vultures from Max’s office and from