“Seriously?”
“What? It’s better than doing math homework.”
“You go,” I said, and stayed put.
Within minutes Holly came back and showed off her new T-shirt, the letters W-E-S-T across her chest. She’d put it on over her other shirt.
“Let me see the back,” I said.
She turned around. Sure enough, the letters B-U-R-G were on the back.
“That’s literally so cute,” I said.
“You wanna get one?” she asked.
I could use something new. A hoodie? “Maybe,” I said. Kids crowded around the tables, taking out credit cards and debit cards, and the student council kids were swiping them into a white square on their iPhones. They looked so professional.
“Hey, Lili,” one of the council kids said. “Oh my God. You would look so cute in this.” She held up a Westburg hoodie. Black and orange. It was cute.
“How much?” I asked.
“Fifty,” she said without hesitation.
I practically gagged. “Dollars?”
The girl laughed. And when she saw that I was serious, her smile fell and she added quickly, “It’s for cancer research.”
I dug in my jean pocket (like I had more than five bucks!) and pretended to be annoyed. “Shoot! Oh, I left my money in my other jeans. Are you guys going to be here tomorrow, too?”
“Yup.” The girl moved on to someone else with a credit card.
I pulled Holly’s sleeve. “I’m good. Let’s go buy a Chipwich or something, my treat.”
“I thought you liked the sweatshirt.”
“I do, but it’s crazy expensive.” With Holly, I could tell the truth. Or, at least skim the top of the truth and give her the foamy layer that wasn’t too complicated or bitter.
“Hey,” Holly said, lowering her voice. “I can loan you the money if you want.”
I sucked in my cheeks. “No thanks,” I managed, walking quickly back to our table. Holly trailed me.
“Hey, Lil. It’s no problem. I know you’ll pay me back.”
I crammed my notebook into my backpack, pretending not to hear her.
“Seriously. It’s no big deal.”
No big deal. What was I supposed to say to that? Fifty dollars was a big deal to some people. Hello… me. Plus, it was more than the money. But, no big deal.
“Lil? Are you mad at me or something?”
“Nope.” I zipped my backpack closed.
Holly just stood there, like she genuinely didn’t know what to say. Like she… totally didn’t get it.
“Look, thanks for the offer. It’s crazy nice of you. But I actually have too many sweatshirts. Anyway, I gotta go check in with Mrs. Davila. She ordered some new… paper, and I want to get some before it’s gone. See ya,” I said, and took off.
On my way out of the cafeteria, I heard the principal announce over the PA system that from now on, all posters and flyers had to be approved ahead of time by his office. Right. But the damage had already been done.
Actually, it was just beginning.
23
Outside homeroom the next morning, I saw Rayshawn and his METCO friends on their phones, scrolling, scrolling, looking furious. “Aw, no fucking way!” Rayshawn cried out, his voice anguished. His friends huddled around his screen.
“That’s total bullshit!” another guy spat out.
“What is it?” I asked, coming close.
Rayshawn smacked his head back against his locker. Whatever it was, it was bad.
“Let me see.”
His boys ducked their heads, shifting away.
“Rayshawn.” Now I had to see.
Looking totally gutted, Rayshawn turned the screen my way. It was worse than I could have ever imagined. Someone had posted a meme on Insta—with a noose made of basketball net around Rayshawn’s neck.
The person had taken down the post, but not before someone else had taken a screenshot of it and reposted it. I looked wildly up and down the hall. How could this be happening? I couldn’t begin to imagine how Rayshawn must have been feeling. I reached for his arm. I wanted to say something, but there were no words. The look on his face was so hurt that my eyes filled with tears.
It wasn’t till he was a few feet away that I saw Dustin walking toward me.
“We gotta do something about this,” one of Rayshawn’s friends was saying.
Another answered, “Damn straight.”
Dustin reached for my hand. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
Dustin lifted his chin hello at Rayshawn and the others, but Rayshawn’s face had shut down, and his hands were balled into fists. “Yo,” he said, his voice hard. “You better tell your boy Chris or Steve or whatever asshole made that meme to stop this shit.”
Dustin stepped back. “What shit?”
Rayshawn’s friends laughed, but the sound was the opposite of joy.
Rayshawn narrowed his eyes. “Okay, have it your way. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Dustin actually smirked. “Come on, bro. What are you talking about?”
I literally winced when he said “bro.” Rayshawn’s jaw locked.
The bell rang. No one moved. Except for me. I grabbed Dustin’s elbow. “I gotta go,” I mumbled; it was the only way I could defuse the situation.
When we were far enough down the hall, I filled Dustin in. He was as shocked as I was. “Do you think it was Steve?” I asked.
“Why do you think it was Steve?” Dustin bit the side of his thumb. “No way,” he said, but not quite convincingly. Plus he wouldn’t look at me. But I didn’t think Dustin would lie.… If he knew it was Steve, he’d tell me. So either he really didn’t know… or Chris Sweet had done it.
* * *
By lunch everyone had heard about the meme. Rayshawn and his friend Patrice set up a meeting with the principal, but all the principal said was that they were “looking into it.” So Patrice put a strip of duct tape over his mouth to symbolize their voices being silenced, and wore it until a teacher told him to take it off or else. I usually sat with Holly for lunch but that day, I don’t know, I just felt the need to stop at the METCO table. They were all in a frenzy, talking all loud, talking all over each other.
“This ain’t right.”
“Do they have any idea who would do this?”
“Had to be someone on the basketball team.”
“Whoever did this better be expelled.”
One kid sat with his head on the table while the girl beside him held his hand.
Lunches sat untouched.
“Hey,” I finally said to Brianna. Her hair was up in a bun like mine. She glared like I had just interrupted a funeral service.
“What do you want?” she asked, all mega-attitude.
“Nothing.… I… I just wanted to say…”
Brianna waved me away. “Why don’t you go back to your white-girl table? We’re good here.”
My chest tightened. “I… I…”
She sucked her teeth and added, “Gringa.” I gaped at her. I wanted to scream, But I’m in METCO too! I’m from Boston too! But that one word—“gringa”—sapped all the energy out of me. Gringa?
“Whatever,” I said, and spun away. But instead of heading to the white-girl table, I aimed for the art room. I wasn’t hungry anyway.
24
Rayshawn wasn’t in school the next day. Dang. Just as I was picturing again that meme of him, the principal announced over the PA: “Students who engage in posting racist messages online WILL be expelled. And in some cases we WILL be contacting colleges and notifying admissions counselors of hateful posts.”
Well, that got everyone’s attention. It was pretty awesome that the principal would make it a big deal. It WAS a big deal. Kids tucked their phones away as if just by holding them they would somehow be culpable. Then one guy in the row by the window mumbled, “That goes against the First Amendment, but whatever.”
The girl in front of him swung around. “What?”
�
�You can’t prevent someone from posting their ideas. Freedom of speech, anyone?”
A few people snickered. I wanted to smack the guy upside the head. But what good would that do? I’d be the one suspended, probably.
* * *
In first period French, Madame Volpée had everyone practicing the unit vocabulary in pairs. Pastel flash cards—baby blue, powder pink, light green—supposedly helped the memorization process. My partner: Peter Rubenstein. He was a straight A+ student, and he smelled like peanut butter. He wore Vineyard Vines clothes, from his navy-blue pants to his pink button-down.
Peter had just asked me for the word for “building” when I heard the echoey scratch of the loudspeaker. “Liliana Cruz… to the main office. Liliana Cruz… to the main office.”
Why does hearing your name over the PA instantly make you feel like you’re busted for something? At my old school, kids would start oohing and saying things like, “Oh snap!” and “You gonna get it!” but here, in my honors French class, no one except me even looked up.
As I headed for the office, I heard other names being called—all METCO kids—yes, including Brianna. Oh man, what was this going to be about?
Walking by Dustin’s bio class, I slowed down and peeked in. His legs extended almost past the kid in the desk in front of him, his Red Sox hat was on backward, and he was taking notes. He looked so cute. I gave a cough, hoping he’d look up. When he did, he smiled so wide that I instantly felt calmer. He gave me a Whatsup look. Guess he’d heard my name over the PA too. Then the teacher came over and shut the door. I could just imagine Dustin rolling his eyes.
Just past the shoe, I ran into Steve of all people.
“Hey,” he said awkwardly, walking into the main office.
“Hey,” I said, just as awkwardly.
At the same time we said, “What are you doing here?”
A teacher holding a clipboard and a massive bulky backpack nodded at Steve. “You ready to roll?”
Steve gave a thumbs-up, then turned to say, “Environmental Club field trip. We’re going to do research at the marsh in Barnstable.”
I blinked in surprise. Steve was in Environmental Club?
“Have fun” was all I could come up with.
As he walked off, I approached one of the secretaries and in my polite school voice said, “Good morning. I was called over the PA.”
“And your name would be…?”
“Oh, sorry. Lili.”
She leaned forward. “And your last name? Work with me, sweetheart. I have a thousand students on my roster.”
“Cruz. Liliana Cruz,” I said, all nervous again.
“Oh yes. In there.” The woman pointed to a door down the hall.
I hesitated just outside until a voice called, “Come in!” It was Mr. Rivera. He was smoothing a pink tie and wearing a wide smile. “Welcome, welcome! Have a seat, Liliana.” He motioned toward an oval table and leather chairs, like in the boardrooms I’d seen on TV. A few other METCO kids were already there. Yep, including Brianna.
“Please. Help yourself.” Mr. Rivera nodded toward a box of donuts. “There should be fifteen in total.” He paused, smiled again. “Students, not donuts.”
A guy in a red sweatshirt—I think his name was Isaac—spun his chair around and then leaned back. “I could get used to this,” he said, propping his feet on the edge of the table.
Mr. Rivera waited another minute as more kids arrived, then said, “All right. Good morning, guys.” He started loosening his tie.
We all just stared at him.
“So, you probably know why you’re here.”
Well, yeah. It was pretty obvious that the administration was having us meet now because someone had posted the meme of Rayshawn.
“This some kind of Big Brothers Big Sisters program?” the guy in the red sweatshirt asked.
Brianna raised a finger into the air. “Yo. I already did the Big Sisters program. And I didn’t like it. All the lady did was take me to Chipotle twice, and for my birthday she gave me a boring-ass book and that was it. So can I leave now?”
Mr. Rivera passed the box of donuts to the guy in the red sweatshirt, told him to pass it down. “It’s important to have a space to… talk,” he said.
I was choosing a Boston cream donut when the door swung open.
“Excuse me. Sorry I’m late. I had rehearsal.” Genesis. Thank God. I nodded at her, but she—ignored me. Actually, she kind of gave me a neck roll and sat down across the room, when there was a perfectly good empty seat next to me. Okaaay…
“So,” Mr. Rivera was saying, “starting tomorrow, we’ll meet each Thursday—you’ll be excused from lunch. We’ll talk about different topics—racism, classism, sexism, discrimination, stereotypes, and college. Perhaps we’ll bring in guest speakers, do special projects. Sound good?”
“Talk about racist memes?” Ivy asked. Mic drop.
“Absolutely, yes,” Mr. Rivera said.
“Will there be donuts?” another kid asked.
“You betcha,” Mr. Rivera said, sounding overwhelmed.
We all signed the sheet being passed around. When the bell rang, I tried to catch Genesis, but she booked it out of the room and disappeared into the hallway. She was clearly ticked off at me. What was up with that?
25
I was dragging the recycling bin out to the curb just before bed when I heard yelling above me.
“I swear! It’s not like that!” It was Jade!
Then, silence. I raced back upstairs to my window.
Then, a cry.
Jade began yelling again. And then more crying. Sounds of furniture being dragged around or something. I crept over to the living room window, but all I could see were shadows behind her shade. And then dark. I ran out of the apartment and raced down the stairs to find Jade at the front door of my building, one side of her face all swollen.
“Oh my God! Jade!”
She hugged me tight. I pulled her up to my apartment, so the whole building wouldn’t hear Jade’s business.
My mother bustled in, took one look, and ordered Jade to sit down. “I’ll get you some ice, mija.”
I plunked down next to Jade on the couch. “Jade…” I didn’t know what to say. But I knew what I was thinking: If this was Ernesto, I will legit strangle him to death.
“It’s not what you think, Liliana, so just don’t.” Jade glared at me.
“What? I wasn’t thinking—”
“Yes, you were, and it wasn’t Ernesto.”
Okay. But if it wasn’t him… Still, I nodded. “Okay. But. Jade. What happened?”
Jade’s chin trembled, and then she just started bawling. Mom hurried back with ice wrapped in paper towels. “Here, hold this to your cheek.” She sat down on Jade’s other side.
“It was… it was my grandmother,” Jade said, and began hiccup-crying. “She got all on me because a teacher called about my attendance, saying I was absent, and my grandmother decided I’d skipped school to be with Ernesto, but I swear I was just late. Yeah, I’d stopped at Dunkin’, so I was late for first period and they marked me absent, but I swear I was just late. I didn’t skip.” Jade glanced at my mother. “I swear.”
My mother nodded.
“Anyway, my grandmother won’t believe me.”
“So why didn’t you just try to explain what happened?” I didn’t get it.
“Girl, please.” Jade rubbed the ice back and forth across her cheek. “Abuela was going ballistic. She wouldn’t listen to a word I said.”
Jade looked from me to my mother. “Can I stay here tonight? Just until things calm down?”
“Of course,” I said, just as my mother was saying, “I don’t know, Jade—”
“Mom!”
“Let me call Doña Carmen and tell her you’re here and that you’re okay, but, mija, tomorrow you two have to get this sorted out.”
Jade nodded, tipped her head back against the couch cushion, pressed the ice against her cheek.
Mom left.
I could hear her on the phone. Jade and I moved to my room. “You want some Cup O’ Noodles?”
“Yeah.”
I made us soup, then set one of the containers down on the rug beside Jade. She held a pillow on her lap.
“Thanks, girl.”
“No problem.”
My clock said it was almost midnight. I was going to be mad tired tomorrow morning. But Jade was my girl, mad tired or not.
“Liliana?”
“Yeah?”
“You still writing?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Could you, like, read me something? It’d make me, I don’t know, maybe feel better?”
“For real?” I hadn’t done that in so long. Come to think of it, I hadn’t written anything in a while.
She slurped up a long curly noodle. “Yeah, for real.”
“Okay.” I grabbed my purple notebook. Who cared about mad tired?
“Liliana?”
I searched for what to read. “Yeah?”
“You hear from your dad lately?”
I looked up. Shook my head. “I know he’s trying to come back, though.” A quick prayer in my head: Please let him be safe, God.
“That’s whatsup,” Jade said, and crisscrossed her legs. “Okay, so whatcha got for me?”
I cleared my throat and began to read.
26
On the way to school on Thursday I sent Jade a billion texts. Mom said she was going to make breakfast for her and her grandmother at the apartment and then, you know, make Jade return home after school. I crossed my fingers, legs, and arms. I would have even crossed my toes, if I could! Just before lunch, Mom sent me a gracias a Dios text with a picture of Jade and her grandmother hugging. Good work, Mom.
* * *
At our first official METCO support group meeting or whatever it was called, we brainstormed a bunch of “issues” and “concerns”: vending machines not being refilled that often, SAT prep classes on the weekends vs. weekdays, jobs.
A guy named Biodu brought up that last one. He crossed his arms and announced, “Mr. Rivera, what I need is money.”
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