"Sh*t. Damn. B*tch. Crap. F*ck. Hell."
When Kelita Thompson gets involved in something grave, resulting in her having to repeat her junior year of high school, her parents make the executive decision to move their family across the country to escape...
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Ah, the mall. A teenage loitering tradition that has gone on for however fucking long malls have been around. Did you know loitering is actually a crime made up by white people to punish black people for existing near them? And don't even get me started on the story behind picnics! Anyways, this is getting away from me now. Where were we? Oh yes! The next day!
Crap.
I'd forgotten to order my textbooks! My parents were gonna kill me if I didn't get on that soon!
In the changing room, I hastily tapped in order confirmations after checking that there was enough in my account.
Damn, those books were expensive! No way could anything in there possibly be valuable enough for that price tag! Just another way to gatekeep pathways to success from the poor, and by extension disproportionately POC. What was I saying? Right! Books.
Upon checking my account, I noticed a couple extra dollars were sent to it. It was titled "Clean Bathroom Money - Dad".
Maybe he did still love me.
Okay, I was way off track! I closed my phone and began to undress, hearing the sounds of Anais and Candace bantering outside my dressing room.
I tried clothes on, but who was I kidding? I could never afford those things. I guessed a flashy town came with flashy price tags.
"I'm gonna go ring up," I heard Anais say, and the clattering of the several hangers with clothes she held.
"Gotcha, hon'!" Candace replied sweetly, "And Kelita! How are you doing in there?"
"Good!" I lied.
I was just wasting time at that point. What kind of store was this? I was used to being told by my family that I needed some meat on my bones, but in that dressing room I tried on "large" after "large" to no avail. I couldn't imagine how Candace must've felt, as, I'd remembered the store's piteous "plus sized" section.
Damn. I pored through outfits. Cute top? The buttons bursted open. Pretty dress? I couldn't even breathe too hard, else the zipper come undone. Skinny jeans? Don't even think about it. They wouldn't go past my thighs!
I guessed at least I felt Beyoncé's pain...
Gosh, what was the truth, then? "Don't nobody want a bone but a dog" in one community, but too curvy in another. It began to really hit me - the ways I'd always been held to two drastically different standards, with an impossibility of meeting both.
Oh well, I told myself. So it goes. One more try.
Riiiiiiiiiiiiip!
Crap.
Okay, that was it. Too much too fast. Too skinny, too fat. I started crying.
