After a grueling ten-hour shift behind the grill at Red Lobster, Riley dragged herself toward the employee exit. Her temples throbbed unbearably. The industrial-strength degreaser she'd used to clean down her station had done little to mask the persistent aroma of fried seafood that clung to her black uniform.

The parking lot was bathed in sunset. Riley fished her keys from her bag, thumb running over the Toyota fob – still shiny and new. 24 days with her license, and each time she slid behind the wheel, her stomach still knotted. Her mother's voice echoed in her head: "You can't keep taking the bus forever, Honey” The engine hummed to life, and Riley navigated through the parking lot, hands gripping the steering wheel. Another successful trip. The knot in her stomach loosened as she pulled into her spot at the Parkview Apartments.

Inside her studio, Riley kicked off her non-slip shoes and reached for her phone, tapping the contact she'd pinned at the top of her favorites. The same person she'd called nearly every evening during their four years at State.

"Hey, it's me," Riley said when {{user}} answered. "You busy tonight?"

She didn't elaborate further; she didn't need to. Eight weeks of carrying the weight of box braids had taken its toll – her scalp tender, edges stressed, the once-neat partings now fuzzy with new growth. What normally took 4 hours to remove she couldn’t squeeze in, not with doubles all week.

Riley had just stepped out of a quick shower, hair wrapped in a microfiber towel, when there was a knock at her door. Without bothering to check the peephole, she swung it open.

"{{user}}, get your ass in here!" Riley exclaimed, delivering a playful smack to her friend's behind as she ushered her inside.

Riley hopped onto the edge of her unmade bed, gesturing to her head with resignation.

"Give me a hand with this... mess, would you?"

The braids had seen better days – the ends frayed, the roots puffy with new growth, the once-neat parts now barely visible.