When you're put in a position to really affect young people who

Host: The school auditorium was empty now — only the echo of laughter lingered in the air, along with the faint smell of chalk, dust, and new beginnings. The stage lights were still half-on, glowing like tired stars above faded banners that read “Future Leaders Forum.” Rows of empty chairs sat facing the stage, each one holding the quiet residue of the young faces that had filled them hours earlier — faces wide with possibility, fear, and that fragile hope reserved for people who still believe they have time.

Host: Jack sat on the edge of the stage, his tie loose, sleeves rolled, looking out at the sea of emptiness like a man who had just finished speaking to a generation he wasn’t sure could hear. Beside him, Jeeny leaned against the podium, arms folded, her expression both proud and contemplative.

Jeeny: (softly) “Zendaya once said, ‘When you're put in a position to really affect young people who are going to run the world one day, if you're able to be in their life at a young age and make a positive impact, I think that's a beautiful thing.’”
(She looks out at the chairs.) “You think we did that today, Jack? Made an impact?”

Jack: (smiling faintly) “Hard to tell. Seeds don’t sprout in front of you. They hide underground for a while first.”

Jeeny: “And some never grow.”

Jack: “Yeah. But some do. And those are the ones that make the waiting worth it.”

Host: The echo of a basketball bounced faintly in the gym down the hall, a sound both careless and eternal. Somewhere, a janitor whistled out of tune. The stage lights hummed — their buzz steady, electric, patient.

Jeeny: “It’s strange, isn’t it? You stand up there and talk about dreams, resilience, courage — and you wonder if anyone’s really listening. Half of them are just scrolling, half are pretending not to care. And yet…”

Jack: “And yet something sticks.”

Jeeny: “Yeah. Maybe not your words — but your presence.”

Jack: “Presence is underrated. It’s not what you say, it’s the fact that you’re there. That you showed up. Young people notice that more than you think.”

Host: The light flickered, casting their shadows long across the wooden floor — two adults sitting in the ruins of inspiration, caught between cynicism and faith.

Jeeny: “When I was fifteen, one of my teachers told me I had a voice that could move people. I didn’t believe her. Not until I was almost thirty. But I still remember her face — the way she said it like she was sure.”

Jack: “That’s what it is, Jeeny. That’s the ‘beautiful thing’ Zendaya’s talking about. Not grand gestures. Just someone looking at you and seeing a version of yourself you don’t see yet.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “Hope in the shape of a sentence.”

Jack: “Exactly.”

Host: Outside, the last streak of sunset bled across the windows, a quiet afterthought of light. The city beyond was already awake again — cars, voices, sirens — the soundtrack of a world being run by the very people these kids would replace one day.

Jeeny: “You ever think about how terrifying that is? That the world’s future is sitting in classrooms right now, learning from people who are just trying to make rent?”

Jack: “That’s the paradox of teaching — or mentoring, or whatever you call what we do. The people shaping tomorrow are human, flawed, exhausted. But that’s what makes it honest. You can’t inspire perfection. You can only model persistence.”

Jeeny: “That sounds noble.”

Jack: “It’s survival.”

Host: She laughed softly, the sound filling the empty hall with something that felt like warmth.

Jeeny: “You know, every time I talk to young people, I’m reminded how much I envy them. They still believe the world is repairable.”

Jack: “It is. They just don’t know yet how hard the repairs will be.”

Jeeny: “And we do.”

Jack: “Yeah. But that’s why they need us. We’re not there to hand them the world — we’re there to hand them the tools.”

Host: The stage lights dimmed further, leaving the auditorium bathed in a twilight glow. Dust particles floated in the air, catching the light — tiny constellations of memory.

Jeeny: “You ever think mentorship is just a way of making peace with the fact that we won’t last forever?”

Jack: “It’s more than that. It’s a way of leaving fingerprints on the future. Small ones, invisible maybe — but real.”

Jeeny: “Like ripples on water.”

Jack: “Yeah. You never see where they end.”

Host: The janitor poked his head in briefly, nodded at them, then left without a word. The sound of the door closing echoed like punctuation.

Jeeny: “Do you ever get scared we’ll say the wrong thing? That instead of inspiring, we’ll misguide?”

Jack: “Of course. Every word’s a gamble. But silence is worse. At least when you speak, you give someone something to wrestle with. Even disagreement can be fuel.”

Jeeny: “That’s true. I guess the real mistake would be pretending they don’t need us.”

Jack: “Or pretending we don’t need them.”

Jeeny: “You mean — their energy?”

Jack: “Their belief. That unfiltered conviction that something better’s possible. Every time I talk to them, I feel younger — not in body, but in spirit.”

Host: The rain began outside, light but steady — the kind that makes the world sound softer. Jeeny looked out the window, the reflection of the raindrops dancing across her face.

Jeeny: “You think they’ll remember us?”

Jack: “Not our names. But they’ll remember the feeling. The tone of encouragement. The moment someone said, ‘You can.’”

Jeeny: “Like a spark.”

Jack: “Exactly. Sparks are tiny, but they start everything.”

Host: The lights on the stage finally went dark, leaving only the faint glow from the exit sign. They sat in the near-darkness — two silhouettes in a hall built for voices.

Jeeny: “You know, I used to think power was about having followers. But now I think it’s about influence — the kind that keeps moving after you’re gone.”

Jack: “That’s the difference between fame and legacy. Fame ends when the lights go out. Legacy begins when someone else switches theirs on.”

Jeeny: “You make it sound almost sacred.”

Jack: “It is. Changing a life, even slightly, is the closest thing to immortality we get.”

Host: Outside, a distant thunder rolled. The rain quickened. The world was being washed, renewed, rewritten — as it always was, one generation at a time.

Jeeny: (quietly) “I think Zendaya was right. It is a beautiful thing — not because of the power, but because of the trust. Because for a while, someone lets you help shape who they’ll become.”

Jack: “And because somewhere, someday, they’ll pass that same kindness forward — without even realizing where they learned it.”

Host: The rain eased. The night deepened.

And in that still, sacred quiet — where the echoes of youthful voices still lingered — Zendaya’s words seemed to rise again, gentle but radiant:

that influence is not authority,
but presence;
that to touch a young mind
is to plant light;
and that every act of guidance,
however small,
is a silent promise to the future
that we still believe in it.

Host: Jack stood, grabbing his coat. Jeeny followed. They turned off the last light.

And as the door closed behind them,
the empty hall glowed faintly
with the ghosts of laughter —
and the quiet, beautiful evidence
that something had, indeed,
been planted tonight.