Seeing her daughter visibly deflated, Mrs. Portman quickly softened her tone. "Don't be discouraged, sweetheart. You're still ahead of ninety-five percent of your peers. You get top marks in every subject, every year — that counts for something."
When Natalie still looked subdued, she pressed on, "Besides, Maya Hansen isn't the only one. Take Tony Stark — at nine years old, he was already ahead of MIT's engineering faculty. And there's that boy from California, Reed Richards, same as Maya, doesn't like to skip grades. Last I heard, the military is watching him—practically giving him Einstein-level attention. And then there's—"
"Mom." Even Nat's carefully maintained composure cracked. "Are you trying to make me feel better, or are you cataloguing every way I'm inadequate?"
"Oh — right, sorry, darling. I think I skipped lunch and it's affecting my judgment." Mrs. Portman cleared her throat. "Natalie, tell me — how did you actually get talking to Maya Hansen? I've run into that girl at a few events over the years. She always struck me as... difficult to approach."
"She started the conversation. I almost didn't recognize her at first." Natalie considered it. "She seemed nice, actually. Warm."
"What did you talk about?"
"The audition, mostly. Then just background stuff — getting to know each other. Don't worry, Mom, I was careful. I adapt how I talk depending on who I'm with — no flaunting Upper East Side privilege. I know the rules." She paused. "And with someone as sharp as Maya, I figured honesty was the safer move anyway. If we're actually going to be friends, she'd figure out the truth eventually."
"So you told her you'd gotten a copy of the script in advance?"
"Obviously not. That would only create distance. I was careful enough not to even mention I'd already been selected — I didn't want her to feel put out."
Mrs. Portman considered this and nodded slowly. "That's right. I pulled strings to get you the script, and I spoke with Luc Besson beforehand. It wasn't fair to the other girls. Over the holiday break, you should invite Maya out to Long Island — spend some real time with her, let it develop properly."
"Maya. Maya. Time to go. What are you staring at? What's wrong with you? You've been somewhere else all evening—"
Jennifer hauled Maya up from her chair mid-sentence, still talking herself. Maya rolled her green eyes, aggrieved, and smoothed her jacket and fell into step behind Jack.
She spent the walk home turning the Portmans' conversation over in her head. Upper East Side finishing school in action — practical, clear-eyed, unsentimental. Maya didn't resent Natalie's calculation in the slightest. She'd never had any objection to befriending simpler souls from humbler origins — Nana being exhibit A (Nana: oh, so that's aimed at me) — but finding a sharp, strategically-minded girl her age to take under her wing was a different kind of experience. Natalie was interesting. This was going to be fun.
"Waaaah—"
James's cry cut through her thoughts. Maya stepped closer and peered over Jennifer's shoulder at the baby, who was straining hungrily toward his mother's chest with single-minded determination. Jennifer kept trying to redirect his head. The baby wasn't cooperating.
"Jennifer, he's hungry. Have you fed him at all?"
"Do you know how many times I fed him in the bathroom during the audition? And now he's at it again. I had you, and you were nothing like this."
Maya thought privately: You forgot to feed me all the time. If I hadn't been able to tell who was actually home, I would've screamed myself hoarse.
"We were in there too long," Jack said, stepping in. "You usually feed him around this time when we're home. He's on a schedule. Let's just get back quickly — feeding a baby on the street isn't safe."
Maya understood what Jack meant by "not safe." In this neighborhood, a decently dressed woman walking alone risked more than just trouble. Jennifer, who was more than amply built, drawing that kind of attention with Jack around — Jack, who was aware of his own limitations against armed street men — wasn't a risk worth taking. So the baby continued to wail.
Maya reached out. "Here, give him to me."
She took James from Jennifer, held him against her shoulder, and examined her smallest finger. Clean, no nail. Good.
She pressed it gently into the baby's mouth.
James latched on immediately, cheeks working, cries cutting off mid-sob.
"Oh, that's — hehe — that tickles!" The soft rhythmic pressure against her fingertip made Maya's whole hand go tingly.
"Look at you," Jennifer said, pleased. "Always figuring something out."
They were nearly home when they heard it — a child's sobbing and a man's voice, sharp with anger.
Their neighbor Lucius Leon — one of Tom's closer friends — was gripping his younger son by the collar and hitting him repeatedly, cursing with each blow.
"You worthless little piece of — what the hell is wrong with you? Dressing up like that, you think you can just—I'll beat you to death—"
The boy in question, Jamal Leon, was wearing a women's crop top, a scarf wrapped around his head, and one high heel dangling off his foot.
Given the words and the outfit, Maya pieced together the rest: Jamal had been caught raiding his mother's wardrobe. Lucius had found him.
Before the Hansen family could intervene, Jamal's mother Gucci came running out and threw herself between them. "Lucius, you son of a — you never discipline these kids, and now you want to beat him half to death over this? He was just playing around!"
"Don't you know how people in our line of work feel about homosexuals? You think we can have something like this attached to our name? If I don't beat it out of him now—"
He registered the Hansen family standing nearby and stopped himself. No greeting—he just turned and walked off, still fuming.
Gucci pulled Jamal into her arms and kept going, softer now: "Jamal, baby, why do you do this to me. You need to be a man. Hell's Kitchen is no place for someone who acts like a girl."
Jennifer moved over to comfort her friend.
Maya glanced up toward the second floor of the building. At the window, she caught a glimpse of her classmate Andrew — Lucius's older son — watching from above. He noticed her looking and pulled back out of sight.