The mentorship program at Clara's school was, on paper, a two-hour weekly commitment. In reality, it was like trying to sip from a firehose of teenage energy, skepticism, and startlingly sharp insight. My first "session" was held in a sunlit classroom that smelled of whiteboard markers and forgotten lunches. My "mentees" were a group of six: two fiercely quiet girls who took meticulous notes, a boy named Leo who argued every point on principle, a girl named Maya who wanted to reform the juvenile justice system, and a pair, Sam and Jonah, who were mostly there because it was an easy elective.I began by placing my blue sea-glass on the desk. They stared at it."So," Leo said, not bothering to raise his hand. "Is this, like, a Zen garden thing? Are we going to meditate?""Only if you promise not to snore, Leo," I said, earning a snicker from Maya. "It's a conversation starter. Tell me, what do you see?""It's a piece of trash someone polished," Sam offered, bored."It's a metaphor," sai
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