school on a regular basis. The boys had a history of excessive class cutting or suspensions in their regular schools; D-Unit was a reputable, short-term alternative for them to attend, but still keep up their regular school assignments.
He paused at the table by a young man wearing a black-and-white Sean John T-shirt. “What are you working on, Jerome?”
The fifteen-year-old glanced up and said, “I have to do a book report on the Civil War.”
“Have you started your research?” Ransom asked.
“Not yet.” He glanced around the room before adding, “We don’t have a computer at home.”
“Do you have encyclopedias?”
The boy shook his head, looking embarrassed.
“You can use the computer over there,” Ransom said, pointing toward the one on the far left. “We have a set of encyclopedias, as well. Let me know if you need any help.”
“Thanks.”
Ransom smiled. He truly believed that it took a village to raise children, and having been a youth counselor in the school system, he knew firsthand that most teens weren’t misbehaving just because. There was always a reason, usually due to what was going on at home: absent fathers, mothers on drugs, etc. His program allowed teens to come to the center and continue their education. He and his staff worked in a Christian hip-hop environment designed to put the teen boys at ease.
Recent statistics showed that the students in his program returned to school with a change of attitude and grades improved. A couple of the boys had turned in their flags, giving up the gangs to which they once belonged. Before they left the program, Ransom met with each of them to help create short– and long-term goals. He followed up, making regular visits to the schools to make sure his boys were on track and had successfully merged back into the school system.
“I’ll be out for a bit,” he told one of the staff members. “I’m going to introduce myself to some of the local businesses across the street. Maybe we can find some more volunteer opportunities for the boys. I’ll pick up lunch. It’s sub sandwiches today. Rick, can you call in their orders for me?”
“No problem,” said the man seated over at a desk in the far corner.
Ransom left the center and glanced across the street. He was always looking for ways the boys could perform the community service requirements that were part of his program. He had been considering going over to the Stanley Chocolates factory to see if they would allow his students to come in and work in some capacity for a few hours a day. Many business owners in the small outdoor mall where he was located hadn’t been real receptive to having boys with baggy pants and hats on backward in their workplace.
Ransom was never one to give up, so he walked briskly across the street and strode into the plant with purpose.
“May I help you?” the receptionist asked.
“I’d like to speak to the manager, please. I don’t have an appointment, so if he or she is busy, I’d like to schedule one. I’m the owner of D-Unit across the street.”
She smiled at him. “What is your name, sir?”
“Ransom Winters.”
“Michael, there’s a Mr. Ransom Winters here to see you. He’s the owner of D-Unit.”
She hung up, saying, “Please have a seat. Michael will see you shortly.”
“Thank you.”
Stanley Chocolates had been around for as long as he could remember. Ransom glanced about the reception area, studying the pictures.
A man walked out from the back. “Hello, I’m Michael Stanley. You’re Ransom Winters?”
Rising to his feet, he nodded. “I am.” He followed Michael to his office.
Closing the door, Michael said, “I saw a message where you’d called me last week. You were actually on my list to phone today. We had a lot of orders that needed to go out and I was short staffed.”
Ransom sat down in the visitor’s chair facing Michael. “I completely understand. I really appreciate you seeing me without an appointment.” He gave a quick overview of his program.
“I applaud your efforts,” Michael responded when he finished his presentation. “I’m sure the response to the center has been overwhelming.”
Ransom nodded. “So much that we’re opening another one in Inglewood soon. The schools seem to fully be on board. Now if I can just get more of the local businesses to lend their support…”
“You can certainly count us in,” Michael said. “However, I would like to have an orientation with the boys who will be coming here, and they must adhere to the rules I set for them. If they don’t, I will have them leave immediately.”
“Understood,” Ransom said. “Thanks so much, Michael. I appreciate it, man.” He stood up. “I won’t keep you from your work any longer. Thanks again.”
Michael rose to his feet. “I’ll walk you out. By the way, my sister owns the chocolate bar next door. You should go over and introduce yourself. She thought you owned a music store.”
“Really?” Ransom asked. “Is the music too loud?”
“I don’t really hear it unless your door is open,” Michael said. “Nobody’s complained, have they?”
“No,” he responded. “But I’ll cut the volume. I didn’t realize you could hear it all the way over here.”
A young woman walked into Michael’s office just as they shook hands.
“Hey, I was just talking about you,” he said to her. “Coco, this is Ransom Winters. He’s the owner of D-Unit.”
She looked surprised, but recovered quickly and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Constance, but everyone calls me Coco. It’s very nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” he replied.
Ransom was struck silent by Coco’s beauty. He estimated her to be about five-seven. Her body wasn’t too thin or too thick—just the perfect size, in his opinion, and her clear complexion was a golden-butternut color. Coco wore her hair in a sassy, short style that gave her a youthful look. He guessed she was in her mid to late twenties.
He finally pulled his attention away from her and glanced at Michael, to find him smiling.
Busted.
He had been caught ogling the man’s sister. Hopefully this would not cast him in a bad light. He wanted to leave them with a good impression.
“Sis, I think you need to hear exactly what D-Unit is,” Michael told her, sending a wave of relief through Ransom. “It’s not what you thought it was.”
He smiled at Constance. “I heard that you believed I’d opened a music store. That’s not what D-Unit is about.”
“I did,” she confirmed. “So if you don’t sell music, what do you sell?” Coco scanned his clothing. “Are you selling clothes?”
He shook his head. “I don’t sell anything. D-Unit is a center for teens. Right now we’re geared to helping boys in particular, but plan to add services for girls by next year. We offer a structured day program.”
She regarded him with somber curiosity. “What exactly is that?”
“It’s a program designed to help boys stay in school and on target even when they have been suspended.”
“So all those teens I’ve seen coming in and out of your shop are your students?” Coco asked, trying to hide her astonishment. To her they looked more like gangbangers than students.
“Yes,” Ransom answered. “When they’re suspended from school, they usually do nothing but run the streets