Guess what I did today?

Just then, Jamila dropped down into the seat across from her. Olivia pushed a menu toward her friend.

“I shouldn’t drink anything if I have to drive that car home; I’m too paranoid,” Olivia said as they looked over the menu. “But you should have something if you want. I’m definitely getting a plate of nachos as big as my head.”

Jamila shook her head.

“Oh, thanks, but I don’t drink. You should come back here sometime when you’re not driving—the margaritas are supposed to be great. And the nachos are fantastic.”

After they ordered food, Jamila cleared her throat.

“Before you started your own firm, did you work in a different law firm for a while?”

Olivia nodded.

“For the bulk of my career, so . . . what, twelve or thirteen years. Why?”

Olivia geared herself up to give law school advice—that’s where questions like this usually led.

“Did you have to deal with people—mostly men—not listening to you, or your ideas? Or pretending they’d come up with your ideas themselves?”

Olivia laughed.

“Every single fucking day, more or less. That was one of the reasons I started my own firm.” She took a sip of the agua fresca the waitress dropped down in front of her. “Why, do you have to deal with that at the community center?”

Jamila’s eyebrows went sky high.

“Every single fucking day!” They both laughed. “I mean, that’s a slight exaggeration, but for instance—I got involved with the center really early on because I grew up in that neighborhood and was excited there was a new community center. And when I suggested a meal delivery service to the executive director, he blew me off. For months, he blew me off! And then all of a sudden I find out he went to the board and told them his amazing idea about what to do with the cafeteria we weren’t using, and the board got all excited, and I wanted to throw things.”

Olivia nodded.

“Yeah, that sounds about right. And you feel like an asshole complaining about it, since it’s happening, isn’t it, and it’s doing good in the community, isn’t it? But— ”

“But I’m still so bitter! Exactly!” Jamila said. “And you know how yesterday we were talking about getting more teens involved in our work? Well, I had a great idea while I was driving home: you know how people always say the best time to get teenagers talking to you about what’s really going on with them is while you’re in the car? What if we paired up teens and our adult volunteers to do deliveries, in a sort of stealth mentorship program? It would get the kids more involved in the community and the center, and over the course of the weeks and months, they’d get to know the other volunteers, and have someone else to get advice from and rely on.”

Olivia could feel a huge grin spreading across her face.

“I love this idea.”

Jamila grinned back at her.

“Good, because I love it too—thank you for inspiring it. But . . .”

“But you’re worried that if you tell your boss, he won’t give you the credit for it. Again.”

Jamila nodded.

“Exactly. And don’t get me wrong, I really love this job, and for the most part I get to have a lot of free rein, and I feel really proud of the work we do. But he takes all the credit for it! Over and over again! I’m sorry for ranting about this, you’re a volunteer, but I just saw the board meeting minutes, and it goes over all of the meals we’ve made and given out over the last quarter, and congratulates him, again, for his great idea! Olivia, I’m so mad I could spit.”

Olivia wished she were surprised.

“What I would do— ” She stopped herself. “I’m sorry, like the older sibling I am, I have the habit of giving advice whether someone asks for it or not. Do you want advice? I promise, it won’t hurt my feelings if you say no, you just needed to vent over some nachos.”

Jamila shook her head.

“No, I’d love your advice, actually. That’s partly why I brought it up. You always seem so . . . put together and no-nonsense. Like you wouldn’t stand that shit for a minute.”

Olivia sighed. She was glad she seemed like that, at least.

“Thanks, but sadly, I’ve had to stand it, many times. Especially early in my career, when I felt blindsided by it, and had no idea what to do other than just sit there. But my biggest piece of advice is very lawyerly—do everything in writing. And shout yourself to the heavens. Email him your ideas, your successes, your numbers, and be as bold as hell in claiming them for yourself. And this is the key: cc board members on those emails. Especially the one you’re going to send about this teen program, because I love it. Hell, feel free to cc me on that email too! Basically, you need to make it impossible for him to keep pretending you have nothing to do with this, and even more impossible for the board to be clueless.”

Jamila nodded slowly.

“That sounds . . . smart, but really scary.”

The waitress put their nachos in front of them, and Olivia picked up a cheese-laden chip.

“Oh, it’s definitely scary, especially at first. It gets a lot better with practice, though. Feel free to send me any draft emails, if you want me to look them over before you send them. I’ve gotten very good at this in the past six or seven years.” She took a bite of the chip, and reached for another one. “It’ll be good payback for your help in buying that car—maybe even better than these nachos.”