by Renée Watson
All I hear from her is the crunching of cereal.
Her spoon clanks against the bowl.
A full minute passes.
And then she says, “Why did you think you couldn’t tell me?”
“I was going to. But—” I stop myself from making excuses. “I was ashamed. I was mad at myself for liking him. I mean, he’s the guy who benefits from Essence having to move. How can I love him? And things at school have been so crazy. I just, I— Look, there’s no good reason,” I say.
I hear Nikki’s chair rake the floor again, and then footsteps. She comes into the dining room. She just stares at me but at least we’re in the same room.
“I’m sorry I lied, okay? But it took me a while to even admit it to myself. I was afraid—”
“Of what?” Nikki yells. “What could you possibly be afraid of?”
“Afraid that Tony would change me like Kate has changed you!”
With these words, I have officially ruined any chance of this being a kiss-and-make-up conversation. My words spill out of me by accident, like when someone knocks over a cup. They splash into the room, and I’m afraid that they will leave permanent stains on our relationship.
“What are you talking about? I haven’t changed,” Nikki says. “Just because I’ve made new friends doesn’t mean I’m not the same person.” Nikki goes back into the kitchen. “You really need to get over the fact my best friend is white.”
Best? I’ve always been Nikki’s best. And Essence has always been our best. I walk into the kitchen.
“How can you have a problem with me being Kate’s friend when you’re dating her brother?”
I get a glass out of the cabinet and hold it up to the refrigerator, pressing it against the water dispenser. “Look, Nikki, Tony is not changing me—not for the worse. He’s not asking me to take him to Popeyes for soul food, and he’s not surprised that I don’t love hip-hop. He’s not prancing me around—his new black friend—like I’m a trophy or something.”
“Yeah, but he’s hiding you. And that makes him better?”
I drink a sip of water. “I’m the one who didn’t want anyone to know.”
“You know, nobody cares if Maya Younger dates a white boy but you. Race doesn’t matter anymore,” Nikki says. “And for the record, I’m not mad that you’re with Tony, a white boy. I’m upset because you lied about it.”
“You can say all you want that race doesn’t matter, but the reaction to those posters that hang on our school walls says it does, and Principal Green’s over-compensation to make the white kids feel included says it does.” I am yelling even though I am trying not to. I pause only to catch my breath. “And the difference between Tony and me is that we talk about these things. We address them. You and Kate want to function in this love-sees-no-color world, but if your friends don’t see your color, then they don’t see you. Because black is who you are, Nikki. And it matters.”
I have a bad habit of always wanting the last word. I keep talking even though I know I should just apologize and walk away. “I like Kate, I do. I mean, she’s actually grown on me. But really, it seems like every question she asks is about you being black, not about you being you.”
Nikki stands up and washes her bowl. Her back is to me, and we don’t speak to each other for a while. The running water swallows the room’s silence. “Sometimes I just want to exist, Maya. I can admit that Kate is annoying sometimes. But she’s not racist. She’s not asking us questions to be mean,” Nikki says. “But the store clerks? Those people who watch me while I’m shopping in their stores—those are the people who get me. Okay, so maybe it matters. I get it. It’s just exhausting to always have to respond to it.” Nikki turns to me. “You know people call you the black one.”
“Huh?”
“When people ask how do you tell the Younger twins apart, people say, ‘Maya is the one who acts black. Nikki acts white,’” Nikki tells me. “And the first time I heard that, I confronted the person, made it a big deal. But then I just ignored them. Just kept being me. I’m not saying I’m right—it’s just my way of dealing with things. I can’t care too much. It, it—”
“Hurts.”
“Yeah.” Nikki sits next to me at the island. “I go to those stores because it’s my way of standing up to it all, of telling them—and myself—that I belong, that I deserve this kind of stuff, too. Most times, it’s not a problem, but I have definitely walked into one of the boutiques or restaurants on Jackson and felt people staring. Kate and I have gone places where the store clerk speaks only to her, helps only her. And I guess I could shop somewhere else, but I go because this is my neighborhood and I’m not going to hide. If they want to be here, then they’re going to have to see me, learn how to interact with me.”
There is silence again. Nikki’s index finger traces invisible shapes on the island marble. I untwist and retwist my hair. Untwist and retwist.
“Am I a hypocrite?” I ask.
“You’re a black girl who fell in love with a white boy.”
“And a black girl who cares about race and class issues.”
Nikki leans back in the chair. “You can be both.”
Chapter 55
Mom tells me, “Some people will like you and some won’t. What’s more important is: Do you like yourself?”
I’ve been keeping that in mind today. I hear her saying it to me as I take Tony’s hand and walk down senior hall.
There are stares and whispers, but we just keep walking. I don’t let go of his hand.
Chapter 56
Team One is sitting in The Lounge complaining to Mrs. Armstrong about how we don’t want to go to the diversity assembly.
“Why not?” Mrs. Armstrong puts her teacher voice on, like she doesn’t already know why, like she is in support of the assembly. But I know that she and a few other teachers tried to get Principal Green to change his mind and have our annual black history celebration.
Tony, Charles, and I all look at one another trying to figure out who is going to answer her. Star won’t make eye contact. She is giving her hand a tattoo with her blue marker. I am peeling an orange.
Charles speaks, telling all the reasons why we should go with tradition. And Tony adds our new idea about inviting Richmond alums as guest performers and speakers.
“All good reasons,” Mrs. Armstrong says. “And I love your plan to bring alumni here.” Mrs. Armstrong staples together sheets of paper, making the handouts for her next class. “So it seems you all want the same thing as Principal Green.”
Star looks up. “No, that’s the problem. Principal Green is on a completely different planet.”
Staple, staple, staple. “Well, Charles just said that you all came up with an idea that will help people see the great things about Richmond. The legacy alumni have left behind, right?”
“Yes,” I say. My orange has scented the entire room.
Mrs. Armstrong stacks her handouts on top of each other and walks to the whiteboard. “And you want to address the stereotypes people have about our school and prove them wrong, right?”
“Yes.”
“Sounds like you and Principal Green want the same thing,” she says. Her handwriting is in perfect print. “I’m sure if you propose that idea to him, he’d support it.”
“We already did,” I tell her.
Tony adds, “We wanted it to be in honor of Black History Month.”
“I understand,” Mrs. Armstrong says. “But think of it this way: When we’re putting our newspaper together, what happens to really good articles that don’t make the current issue being printed?”
“Depending on the timing, sometimes we publish them in the next one,” Charles answers.
“Well?” Mrs. Armstrong asks.
“Well, what?”
“When is the next time Richmond will be having an event appropriate for what you want to do?”
“I don’t know. The end-of-the-year block party, maybe?” I say.
“Find out,” Mrs. Armst
rong says.
Mrs. Armstrong walks through the aisles of the class and puts a handout on each table. I take half the stack out of her hands and help. The copies are on colored paper, so I know she spent her own money.
Mrs. Armstrong is on her second row when she asks, “Do you remember what we say makes a good title?”
“One that makes a reader want to read the article,” I answer.
Mrs. Armstrong turns around and looks at me with a smile on her face. “Right. And does the writer get the last say on the title of their article?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because sometimes an editor will change the title to reach a broader audience.”
“Right again,” Mrs. Armstrong says.
I hand her back the extra copies. She takes them out of my hand and then says to all of us, “These principles don’t only apply to journalism.”
Chapter 57
We found the student body presidents from the last decade. All it took was asking Dad, who asked a friend, who called another friend, and in two weeks we had everything we needed:
1. Mark Lewis has a master’s in public health from Brown University. He runs a clinic in Philadelphia.
2. Martha Tucker went to Portland State University. She is a teacher at one of the middle schools that feed into Richmond.
3. Whitney Cunningham is a single mom of two boys. She took classes at Portland
Community College. She’s very involved in her church.
4. Robert Graham owns a car repair shop down the street from Richmond.
5. Richard Martin is in the army.
6. Barbara Paterson attended seminary and is a chaplain at Good Samaritan Hospital in Northwest Portland.
7. Candy Stevenson went to Juilliard and dances in Broadway musicals.
8. Rose Franklin is a real estate agent.
9. Harold Milner graduated from Western Seminary and is the pastor of a church in downtown Portland.
10. Destiny Villa, who graduated last year, got a full-tuition scholarship to University of Oregon.
We have a lot to be proud of. And that’s just ten people.
Chapter 58
It is the last day of February. The sun is shining but giving no heat. Sunshine can be deceiving. Today is Richmond’s diversity celebration. The program starts off with dances from Japan, India, and Hawaii. Then Principal Green introduces our guest diversity speaker, Vicki Franklin. We welcome her to the stage with half-sincere applause.
She starts off by saying, “We have more similarities than we do differences.” And then she does this dramatic pause like she’s just said something profound. From there, it just goes downhill. Most of the students are texting or playing games on their cell phones. A few are asleep.
After the assembly, the dismissal bell rings, but I can’t go home. Principal Green has called a special student council meeting after school. Vicki wants to meet the student leaders. When I walk into the room, she is sitting at the head of the table, all smiles.
Principal Green waits until all of us are seated and then starts the meeting. He turns to our guest. “Vicki, the floor is yours.”
“First off, let me say that I’ve had such a great time today. Before I leave, I wanted to talk with a core group of you because I’ve been made aware of what’s been happening here.” Vicki taps Principal Green on his shoulder. And he jumps up, realizing he missed his cue.
Principal Green stands and walks over to his closet. He takes out a thin cardboard box. His plump hands grab a pair of scissors and he cuts the clear tape. The box cracks open. He pulls out an assortment of posters.
Vicki takes one and holds it up. “We’d like each of you to take a few posters and hang them up around the school. As student leaders, it’s important that you are seen taking a stand for unity in the school.”
Principal Green chimes in. “We also think the school could use a little inspiration. Just a little inspiration. So we want to have positive messages all around the building to motivate you all and to keep you focused on graduating.”
Like a poster is going to get us to graduate.
Principal Green and Vicki pass out the posters. The one on top has the symbol for peace in the middle of the page, with the word PEACE written in several languages within the sign.
Tasha has a flyer that shows a welcome mat. The words on the mat read DIVERSITY WELCOMED HERE.
I see Charles looking through the posters and scrunching his face into a frown when he sees one that says THE ONLY THING IN YOUR WAY IS YOU.
Tell that to Essence.
Tony gets a poster that has a black male offering a Latina student a joint. The girl in the poster is walking away from him toward a group of students waiting for her. The caption reads IT’S OKAY TO WALK AWAY.
Principal Green gives me a poster that has two white students, one male, the other female. They are in their graduation gowns and tossing their caps in the air. They have big smiles on their faces and the caption reads SUCCESS AWAITS YOU.
I grab the drug poster out of Tony’s hand and point to the black and Latina faces and ask, “How come their faces are on the poster about drugs and not on this one?” I hold the two posters next to each other.
Inspirational messages?
“Well, we didn’t make the posters, Maya,” Principal Green says.
“You bought them, though,” I say.
Vicki clears her throat and says in a calm therapist voice, “It sounds like you’re having some negative feelings about this. Would you like to share what emotion you’re feeling right now?”
I imagine her working with a client and asking him to point to some stupid chart that has all kinds of facial expressions that range from the best kind of happiness to the worst type of sad. “I’m fine,” I say.
“Does anyone else have something they need to share?” Vicki asks.
Cynthia looks at Tasha, then says, “Well, I mean—it’s obvious why Maya doesn’t want to use these posters. She’s the one keeping the poster war going.”
Star yells, “Well, who’s the one defacing them and writing inappropriate messages? You?”
For the first time, I think maybe it is Cynthia. And then I look at Vince and Bags, and I know they must have something to do with it, too. They are too quiet. They are never quiet.
Cynthia says, “It’s got to be her. All the posters that keep being hung on the walls are about people we’ve studied in Mrs. Armstrong’s class,” She looks at me like she’s just won some kind of battle.
Principal Green looks at me, leans forward in his chair.
“It’s me,” Charles says. “I’m the one who’s been hanging the posters.”
Tony rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve hung some, too,” he says.
And Star says, “I think they are trying to take the blame for me, Principal Green.”
I am surprised when Joey and Rachel confess that they are the ones who have been putting up the posters.
Tasha blurts out, “Oh, God, what is this, some kind of Disney special? Maya did it. The rest of them are just—”
“Principal Green,” I say. “You can suspend me. That’s fine. Cynthia is right. I’m the person who’s been putting up the posters. I haven’t written anything derogatory, but I have been the one putting up some of the black history posters.”
Principal Green looks at me. “I must say, I am very disappointed in you.” He leans back in his chair, and I wait to hear what my consequence will be.
Chapter 59
Principal Green wants to speak to all of us individually. He talks to Joey first, then Rachel. Tony is next, and then he calls on Charles, then Star. I go in last.
“I can’t have the student body president breaking the rules,” he says.
“I know. But I can’t be the student body president and not fight for the students.”
Principal Green sighs. “Fight for the students? Just what exactly are you fighting for?”
“For our right to learn our history—
and by our I don’t mean black. I mean everyone’s history. You want us to chant about being each other’s keeper, but when we tried to hold each other accountable, you didn’t let us. That assembly is something that gave us pride, and you took it away from us. You came here and started making all these changes without letting us be a part of it. And maybe I didn’t go about this the right way, but at least you know why I did it.” I am either going to get in a lot of trouble with Mom and Dad for talking to an adult this way or they will be proud.
Principal Green sits quietly. He turns in his office chair a few times, slow, like moving back and forth is helping him think.
I say, “And Mrs. Armstrong had nothing to do with this. She didn’t tell us to do it or anything. All she did was teach us.”
He is still quiet, still turning. Then he says, “I can’t prove who’s been responding to your posters, but since you have confessed to being the one who started this, I have to suspend you. Two days.”
I must admit, I am relieved. I thought he might say that I can’t be student body president anymore or that I can’t participate in senior activities. I’ve made it through elementary, middle, and three and half years of high school without being suspended until now. Nikki is never going to let this go.
“I need to call your parents,” he says.
“Okay.”
Principal Green stands, and I take this as my cue that our talk is over. I get up, too, but just before I walk out, I turn to him and say, “I don’t know if you want my idea or not, but I think I know what we can do for the senior block party.” I don’t even give him a chance to say this isn’t the time. I just keep talking. “Remember when we talked about bringing alumni to the school to give motivational speeches?”
“Of course, of course.”
“Remember how you wanted us to find alumni who weren’t athletes?”