The Mural
The wall behind the community center had been blank for as long as Jada could remember. It was long and gray, speckled with old tape and faded flyers. Then, one Saturday in April, the city announced that a mural would be painted there, and that anyone in the neighborhood was welcome to submit a design.
Jada loved to draw, but she kept her sketchbook mostly hidden. At school she sat in the back of the art room and never volunteered her opinions, and she was convinced that her drawings were not good enough for anybody else to see. When her best friend Lena discovered that a contest was being held, she refused to let the matter drop.
"You have to enter," Lena insisted. "Your drawings of the river and the old bridge are the best I have ever seen."
"They are only doodles," Jada mumbled. "Other people will have professional ideas."
"Then do it for the neighborhood," Lena said. "Everybody knows that bridge. You draw what we all see."
For two weeks, Jada worked at her kitchen table late into the night, sketching and erasing and starting over. On the day before the deadline, she nearly threw the whole thing away. But Lena stopped by with a bag of markers and sat beside her until the final line was inked.
A month later, the judges announced their decision. When Jada heard her name, her face burned with surprise. Over the summer, volunteers of all ages helped her paint the wall, with the river curving across it and the bridge standing proudly in the middle. Neighbors brought lemonade and stayed to chat about their memories of the old bridge.
On the day the mural was finished, Jada stood back and studied it for a long time. For the first time, her art was not hidden in a notebook. It belonged to everyone around her, and she realized that sharing it had made her braver than she had ever believed she could be.