I gave my scarf and last $100 to a shivering girl at the train station, thinking I’d never see her again. But when I boarded my flight, there she was in first class! “What does this mean?” I asked her, and her answer left me reeling.
I stood in front of a long glass conference table, facing down 12 board members who watched me with expressions that could freeze lava. I took a breath and clicked to the first slide. “Good morning,” I began.
“My name is Erin, and I’m here because I believe no young person should ever end up on the street, fighting to stay alive.”
A few of them exchanged skeptical glances. I continued anyway, voice gaining strength. I paused, hoping someone would show a sign of interest.
Nothing. This was not going well.
I pushed through with my presentation, showing slides featuring success stories, budget projections, and testimonials from kids who’d been through our program. Finally, I clicked to the final slide and lowered the remote.
One of the board members cleared his throat. “We’ll be in touch.” He gestured to the door with barely a glance in my direction. I smiled and thanked them for their time, but I knew then that I’d probably never hear from them again.
This foundation was my last shot at serious funding.
I walked out of that meeting, certain it had been a waste of time, but I had no idea that the real interview hadn’t even started yet. I returned to my sister’s place, where I’d been staying while I was in town. At least the meeting had been a good excuse to visit her.
She took one look at my face and let out a heavy sigh. I shook my head. “Who’d have thought it would be this hard to get people to help kids in need?”
The next morning came too fast.
It was one of those bone-cold mornings where the wind cuts straight through your coat. I was heading to the airport after saying goodbye to my sister, dragging my suitcase and praying I’d make it through TSA without losing my mind. That’s when I saw a girl, maybe 17 or 18, curled up on a bench near the station entrance.
No coat — just a thin sweater and a backpack for a pillow. Her lips were blue, and she’d tucked her hands between her knees. She was shivering so hard I could see it from 20 feet away.
I don’t know what made me stop. Instinct, maybe, or the fact that I’d just spent 24 hours thinking about kids with nowhere to go and nothing to keep them warm. “Sweetheart, you’re freezing.” I crouched beside the bench.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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