“Ms. Rogers said that about me?”
“She sure did. But we’d both like you to speak up more in class. You tend to be so quiet, and I don’t know why. You’re so full of great ideas in your essays.”
“At my last school they didn’t like us to talk so much.”
“Well, let’s try to work on that here, all right? This is a different environment. A chance to make a fresh start.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Yang. I won’t let you down.”
He smiled. “Your manners really are impressive, Ailey. Please give my compliments to your parents.”
During history class, I kept Mr. Yang’s words close. I remembered my home training as Amber softly sighed and raked her fingers through her blond tresses. I decided to ignore her and focus on Chris. On the back of his neatly trimmed head. He’d wanted a super-high-top fade, but his mother had told him absolutely not. He could get creative in college if he wanted to, but so long as he was under her roof, her son wasn’t going to look like some rapper. As I silently willed him to turn around, Amber’s hair struck my cheek; she had flipped her hair back.
I looked at the bright strands on my desk, wishing for scissors so I could cut off that shit and hand it back to her. Instead, I took the tip of my pen and gently pushed her hair off my desk. I ripped a piece of paper out of my notebook and began writing. I folded the paper. I didn’t wait until after class to rise, as I usually did. I tapped Amber on her shoulder.
“Hey, this is for you.” I handed the folded paper to her.
Chris looked back at us, his eyes widening.
“What’s this?” Amber asked.
“Oh, just a little poem I wrote for you. I think you’ll really love it.”
“Really? Gee, thanks!”
“You are so welcome.”
The rest of the day, I thought about Amber reading my note. It made me so happy, but when school let out Chris was waiting for me in our spot, holding the piece of paper I’d given Amber, as if it was a bloody knife.
“Ailey, you made her cry! How could you tell her that you were concerned about her hair touching you, in case she had head lice?”
“Because I am. How do I know where that white girl’s hair’s been?”
“Ailey, why are you so mean?”
“It’s not my fault that heifer doesn’t have any manners,” I said. “Why’s she always throwing her hair back on my desk anyway? Do I look like her damned beautician?”
“She told her friends about the note, Ailey. And now everybody’s talking about you. Don’t you even care?”
“No, Chris, I really don’t.”
He was very insecure. I’d learned that in three months of secret dating. He was popular, but he put up with a lot of shit from the white boys he hung around with. They wanted to sing the “nigger” part in the rap songs they listened to when Chris visited their homes, and he laughed and pretended it was okay. I’d asked, why didn’t he just tell them that it hurt his feelings? But he’d told me he didn’t want them to think he wasn’t a good sport.
“I’m supposed to be your girlfriend, Chris. Not Amber. Or do I just not count because I’m a Black girl?”
“Ailey, don’t say that! Yeah, you count! But everybody’s not tough like you. You don’t need anybody. You’re, like, a soccer team all by yourself.”
“Are you trying to call me fat?”
“No, girl! I just mean, it’s like when you walk through the hallway, you don’t look left or right. You just keep gliding.”
He was supposed to be my boyfriend, but he didn’t understand me. I didn’t look at anybody in the hallways because I was afraid people were laughing at me. Or I was hoping they didn’t catch me pulling my shirt down, because I didn’t want anybody looking at my big booty. I wanted friends so badly, sometimes my stomach hurt, but it was so hard for me to make friends who weren’t blood relatives—I didn’t know why. And did kin even count as actual friends?
“You know what they say, Chris. It’s better to be feared than to be loved.”
“Who says that, Ailey?”
“I can’t remember. I read it in a book somewhere.”
“You talk so funny sometimes.”
He began to kiss me, pushing his tongue into my mouth, as I leaned back on the wall. He begged me, unzip his pants, please, touch it, oh, please, but I refused. When he pressed against me and started grinding, I closed my eyes. His movements didn’t feel good to me, but I felt powerful, that I could make him tremble and pant. I was in control, and that was important, because I was tired of people either telling me what to do or lying to me. I wasn’t going to take it anymore.