It was a humid afternoon in Jackson, Mississippi. The sun bore down on the cracked pavement as thirteen-year-old Jalen Brooks walked home from his summer library program. His backpack was heavy with books, but he didn’t mind. He loved reading. It gave him an escape from the noise of his small apartment and the endless bills his mom whispered about when she thought he wasn’t listening.
Jalen’s sneakers scraped against the sidewalk as he passed a row of closed storefronts. Just ahead, at the side of the road, a sleek black Mercedes-Benz sat with its hazard lights blinking. A man in a crisp white shirt stood beside it, looking down in frustration at the flat rear tire.
Jalen slowed. Most people in the neighborhood would keep walking. Helping strangers wasn’t something folks did often around here—not because they didn’t care, but because everyone had their own problems.
Still, something made Jalen stop.
“You need help, sir?” he asked, cautiously stepping toward the car.
The man turned, surprised. He looked about forty, African-American like Jalen, but dressed in expensive clothes that clearly didn’t belong to this part of town. His gold watch shimmered in the sun.
“I could use it, yeah,” the man admitted. “You know anything about changing a tire?”
“A little,” Jalen said. “My uncle showed me once.”
The man gave a half-smile. “Better than nothing.”
Jalen set down his backpack and got to work. The jack was in the trunk, but the man didn’t seem to know how to use it properly. Jalen crouched by the tire, guiding him step by step. The ground was scorching, and his hands were soon streaked with grime, but he focused. The man watched him closely, helping when asked but mostly staying out of the way.
“You live around here?” the man asked.
“Yeah. Couple blocks that way,” Jalen nodded.
“What’s your name?”
“Jalen Brooks. I’m going into 8th grade.”
The man introduced himself as Derrick Langston. Jalen didn’t recognize the name, but there was something familiar about him.
“Thanks for stopping, Jalen,” Derrick said as they finished tightening the lug nuts on the spare. “Most people just walked past.”
Jalen shrugged. “You looked like you needed help.”
Derrick nodded slowly. “People don’t usually help me for nothing. Especially not around here.”
Jalen wiped his hands on his shirt. “Well, I didn’t do it for nothing. I did it ‘cause it’s the right thing.”
Derrick chuckled. “That’s rare these days.”
They shook hands. Derrick slipped a card from his wallet and handed it to Jalen.
“If you ever need anything, give me a call,” he said. “I run a few businesses. Maybe I can help out sometime.”
Jalen pocketed the card, unsure what to make of it. He thanked the man and continued on his way home, thinking more about his library books than the rich guy he’d just helped.
That night, over a dinner of boxed macaroni and microwaved green beans, Jalen mentioned the flat tire to his mom.
“He gave you a card?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah. Said he owns businesses. Name’s Derrick Langston.”
Her eyes widened. “You serious? The Derrick Langston?”
Jalen shrugged. “I guess?”
His mother disappeared into the bedroom and returned with her old laptop. After a minute of typing, she turned the screen toward him.
There it was: Derrick Langston, CEO of Langston Development Group. Net worth: $28 million. A former college basketball star turned real estate mogul, known for his affordable housing projects across the South.
Jalen stared at the screen. He hadn’t just helped any man—he’d helped someone powerful. Someone important.
“Maybe you should call him,” his mom said quietly.
Jalen looked at the business card still in his pocket. He wasn’t sure what to say, or what would happen. But for the first time in a long while, something in his life felt different. A new page was turning.
Jalen didn’t sleep much that night. The business card seemed to burn a hole in his pocket. By morning, the words Langston Development Group were etched into his mind like a spell.
Before leaving for the library again, he sat on the edge of the couch and stared at his mom’s phone. She’d left it on the charger, as if expecting him to use it.
He picked it up and dialed the number.
“Langston Group, this is Marissa,” came a bright voice on the other end.
“Uh… hi. My name is Jalen Brooks. Mr. Derrick Langston told me to call him. I helped him with his car yesterday.”
There was a pause, and then: “One moment, please.”
A minute later, Derrick’s voice came through.
“Jalen! I was hoping you’d call. How are you, young man?”
“I’m good, sir,” Jalen said, suddenly nervous. “My mom and I looked you up. You’re kinda a big deal.”
Derrick laughed. “Well, I work hard. Listen—can you come by my office this afternoon? I’d like to talk to you about something. Bring your mom, too, if she’s free.”
Jalen agreed. By 3 p.m., he and his mom were stepping into a glass-walled office building downtown. It felt like another planet. A smiling receptionist directed them to the top floor.
Derrick met them in the lobby himself, now in a navy-blue suit. He shook Jalen’s hand like he was an equal.
Inside his office, they sat on leather chairs that probably cost more than their entire living room. Jalen’s mom, Tanya Brooks, was calm but watchful.
“I’ll get right to it,” Derrick said. “Jalen, I’ve met a lot of people. Rich people. Smart people. Athletes, investors. But what you did yesterday? That was character. Not many people stop to help anymore—not without asking for something.”
He paused, then smiled.
“I want to offer you something. A scholarship.”
Jalen blinked. “A… what?”
“I run a foundation for kids from under-resourced communities. Usually, we work with high school students, but I’m making an exception. If you keep your grades up and stay out of trouble, I’ll pay for your tuition—private school starting next year, and then college. Full ride.”
Tanya stared at him. “You serious?”
“As a heart attack,” Derrick said. “But that’s not all. I want to give Jalen something sooner. A mentorship. Weekends here at the office. Shadowing me, learning how business works. And I’ll pay him a stipend.”
Jalen sat frozen. This was more than a reward. It was a door. One no one in his world ever got to open.
“I—I don’t know what to say,” he finally whispered.
“Say you’ll take it,” Derrick said. “I see something in you. And I’d hate to watch that potential disappear just because of zip codes.”
Tanya’s eyes were wet. “Thank you,” she said softly. “You have no idea what this means.”
—
Over the next few months, Jalen’s life transformed.
Every Saturday, he took the bus downtown and spent hours with Derrick. He learned how property deals worked, how to read basic contracts, how to manage money, how to talk with confidence. Derrick introduced him to architects, developers, even city officials. At home, Jalen started tutoring younger kids at the library and helping his mom budget their groceries with Excel spreadsheets.
A year later, Derrick moved Jalen to a top-rated charter school across town. The adjustment wasn’t easy—he was behind in math and wore secondhand uniforms—but he worked hard. By tenth grade, he was on the honor roll.
Word spread in the community. Jalen’s story started showing up in local news: “Teen’s Kindness Leads to Full Scholarship.” But Derrick kept him grounded.
“You’re not a star yet,” he told him. “You’re a seed. Keep growing.”
By the time Jalen graduated high school, he had acceptance letters from half a dozen colleges. He chose Morehouse, Derrick’s alma mater, and majored in business administration.
At twenty-three, Jalen walked across the graduation stage with honors. Derrick was in the front row.
—
Years later, Jalen stood beside a construction site in Jackson—his first affordable housing project. A dozen units, solar-powered, with on-site tutoring rooms for kids.
At the ribbon-cutting, a local reporter asked him what inspired the project.
Jalen smiled and replied, “One flat tire. One stranger. One chance.”
And that was all it took.
