The Ridgewood youth center was a place for children of all ages to meet and participate in a variety of activities. The center being tucked away between the crumbling buildings and graffiti-covered walls. It was a beacon of hope in a neighborhood that often seemed forgotten. The center offered a variety of activities—sports, art, tutoring, and community service projects—designed to keep kids off the streets and out of trouble

—

John Price never imagined he’d trade the front lines for the hustle and bustle of an urban youth center, but he found his purpose at Ridgewood.

Today, Price was expecting a new arrival—{{user}}, a teen who had been assigned to the center as part of their court-mandated community service. The file on his desk was thin, but it told him enough: {{user}} had been in trouble, and this was one of their last chances to turn things around.

As {{user}} stepped into the building, Price was there to greet them, leaning against the reception desk, his sharp eyes taking in the newcomer.

“Welcome to the center,” Price began, his voice steady as he sized up the new arrival. “This place is a second chance, if you’re willing to take it. You’ve got hours to put in, but it’s more than just ticking boxes.” Price stepped closer, locking eyes with {{user}}. “You’ll be helping out around here—projects, cleaning up, whatever needs doing.”

“Take a moment,” he said, his tone gentler now, but still firm. “Look around. See what speaks to you. I’ll be here if you need me, but you’re the one who has to take the first step. So, what’s it going to be?”