The Light in Macklin Part 1-The Tipping Point

The front door to the Macklin Youth Empowerment Center creaked shut behind Alaina Burris as she stepped into the dimly lit main room. The late afternoon sun threw long shadows across the tiled floor, catching on the faces of the children in the framed photos along the wall. Kids smiling during coding class, a dance recital, a summer trip to the lake. Proof of every hour they’d poured into this place.

But today, the center was quiet.

Too quiet.

Alaina sank onto a folding chair beside the front desk and dropped her purse on the desk. The stress weighed on her like wet concrete.

They had thirty days left.

Thirty days before the center would be shut down for good.

Dia Smiley arrived next, a whirlwind of energy slowed by the weight of reality. Her usual bright lipstick couldn’t distract from the tightness around her eyes. “Still nothing from the city board,” she said, tossing her phone onto the desk. “And I got a hard ‘no’ from that tech grant. Apparently, we’re ‘not innovative enough.’ Like feeding kids and keeping them off the streets isn’t innovation.”

“Of course,” Alaina muttered. “Innovation has to come with an app.”

The third partner, Connie Crutcher, walked in moments later, balancing two coffee carriers and wearing her signature oversized hoop earrings and determination. She handed cups to both women.

“I’m guessing we’re still broke?” she said, sitting down.

“Broker than broke,” Dia replied. “The electric bill alone”

“could power a spaceship,” Alaina finished. “I know.”

Connie leaned back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling. “You ever feel like we’re doing everything right but still… losing?”

Alaina glanced toward the photo wall again. “Every day.”


Ten years ago, the three women had founded the center in the heart of Macklin, a forgotten city in the Midwest where dreams struggled to survive past adolescence. They’d come together with fire in their hearts and nothing else. No investors. No roadmap. Just a shared understanding: If no one gave the kids in their community a fighting chance, they would be swallowed by a system that never planned to save them.

And now, they were running out of time.

The youth center had become more than a building. It was therapy for kids whose parents were locked up. It was a safe space after school. It was computer labs, poetry slams, self-defense classes, and free meals. A lifeline.

But ever since a major donor pulled out last fall and with inflation squeezing everything from food prices to utilities their shoestring budget had frayed beyond repair.


Later that evening, Alaina sat alone in the rec room. She’d stayed behind after Connie and Dia left to prepare for their emergency fundraiser scheduled that weekend. It was a longshot, but it was all they had left.

Her phone buzzed with a text. It was from her brother, Malik.

Heard about the center. You okay?

She stared at the screen. No. Not really. But she typed: Trying to be.

The screen stayed lit a moment longer. Then another message came through.

You remember Macklin West High? They’re throwing a gala next week for alumni. Big names. You should go. Network.

Alaina rolled her eyes. She’d hated Macklin West. She was one of a few Black kids there, always made to feel like an outsider. She hadn’t been back since graduation.

But something stirred in her. Big names. Network. Donors.

Could that be it? Could that be the thread they needed?


Two days later, the fundraiser began in the center’s parking lot. Folding tables were lined with homemade baked goods, face painting for the kids, spoken word performances by the teens. The community showed up, as always grandmothers bringing sweet potato pies, barbers donating free cuts, a DJ blasting classic soul.

But the jar for donations didn’t fill up fast enough.

By sunset, they’d raised just over $2,300. Not even close.

Alaina tried to smile through it. Connie gave a speech. Dia danced with the kids. They clung to hope because that’s what they’d taught the children to do. But behind their eyes, a shared truth settled like dust: it wouldn’t be enough.

Later that night, Alaina stood in the kitchen, clutching a mug of tea that had long gone cold. Her heart ached. For herself. For the girls who learned to trust again within these walls. For the boys who said “I want to be like you” instead of “I want out of Macklin.”

She thought of her mother, who used to say, “Ain’t no shame in struggle. But don’t let it take your joy.”

And she thought about the gala. One more door. One more shot.


Preview of Part 2: The Gala

Alaina walks into a room she thought she’d never return to, surrounded by the elite of Macklin the same crowd that used to look through her like glass. She carries with her nothing but a photo album of the kids and the fire of a decade’s work. Dia and Connie wait back at the center, holding the line.

Inside the gala, Alaina comes face-to-face with an unexpected ally someone from her past with power, influence, and an unspoken debt to settle.

But in Macklin, nothing comes without a price.

And not every offer is what it seems.