"But I don't get it." Leala put her hair into a ponytail. "How could a male African American teenager with no weapons be a threat to a police officer who's armed?"
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Harmony's older brother was found dead, and the cop who killed him wasn't charge...
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I walked through the halls of Beverly High School with my head angled towards the floor. I liked to stare at the different pairs of shoes the other kids wore. Some wore Jordans, Dior, Micheal Kors, etc. I sometimes forgot how weird and timid staring at the floor made me look, but I didn't care.
Beverly High was a school for very privileged kids—the majority of them being Caucasian. The only reason my black ass was here was that I was smart enough to get a scholarship; without that, I'd probably be off pregnant or some shit.
I twisted the lock on my locker carefully while patiently waiting for my boyfriend to come and greet me like he always did every morning. Once it opened, I fixed up my messy bun in the tiny mirror that hung in my locker, spotting David approaching me in the background.
"Hey, Baby." He wrapped his arms around me and kissed my neck.
"Hi." I smiled and then began grabbing my binder out of the locker. "How was baseball practice yesterday?"
David huffed, making some of his curly brown hair shoot up in the air. "It was alright. Coach got all mad and shit because some of the guys skipped."
"Skipped practice?" I gently shut my locker and then turned to face him. Staring into his hazel-green eyes always made my stomach flip.
"Yeah." He ran his hand through his hair as we began walking through the crowded hallway. "You'd think they would want to better themselves for when they go off to college."
I nodded my head in agreement. "That would be the bright thing to do."
"I agree, but all those fuckers are ignorant jocks."
I shook my head at him. "Don't generalize all the people on your team. Some are smart—like you, for example." I smiled before getting on my tiptoes to kiss him. "Since you're the captain, I suggest you talk to them."
"I'm not sure they would listen, but I'll give it a shot." He kissed my cheek. "I'll see you later."
"Bye." I spun on my heel, entering my AP US History classroom.
I slid gracefully into my desk. Then I started choosing a colored pen that would be the theme for my new chapter of notes. While I was flipping through the pages in my binder to find a clear page, my best friend plopped into the desk beside me.
"Hey!" Leala waved hysterically.
"Hi." I chuckled.
Leala and I met when we were in fifth grade. I've been in the rich people's school for quite some time. My parents feared that if I wasn't here, I'd go down the same road a lot of the other girls of my skin color and age did.
I was here to prove to my fellow African Americans worldwide that they too could do it. Most importantly, the ones that lived in my poor neighborhood on the west side.
After taking notes in AP US History, I made my way to AP Literature, then AP Calculus, before finally heading to lunch.
I always brought my lunch because some of the foods they served here didn't have enough salt or seasoning, but what more could you expect? It's the lunchroom.
I sat down at one of the tables that were on the outskirts of the cafeteria, waiting for David and Leala. I mostly wasn't the center of attention. I didn't want to be bullied by the popular kids like all the other people who wanted to make a name for themselves.
While Leala and I were complaining about all the homework in our AP classes, the intercom turned on, "Can Harmony Smith come to the office? I repeat, could Harmony Smith come to the office?"
I gulped while David and Leala looked at me shocked. "Did you do something?" David finished the rest of his water bottle.
"Not that I know of." I pushed my chair up. "I'll see y'all later, I guess." I waved before grabbing my trash and walking it to the trash can.
I could feel everyone's eyes on me with each step I took. Another thing about this school, rarely anybody got into trouble; if they did, word about it would spread like wildfire.
By the time I was in the hall, I saw people whispering in their friend's ears while looking at me. Instead of yelling at them to look away, I stared at the tiled floor.
When I pushed open the office door, I was greeted by my mom, but she didn't look like my mom. Her eyes were stained red, her face had zero makeup added to it, her brown hair wasn't picked out into the afro that it was usually in, and she wore grey sweatpants and a navy blue hoodie. I also noticed all of my belongings that I left in my locker in her hands.
I knew something was wrong right off the bat. For one, my mom never left the house looking so rough. She didn't want people to assume that she dressed poorly because she was poor.
"Ma, what happened?"
"It's your brother." Tears formed in her eyes, and her voice began to wobble. "He was shot. . . by a police officer."
My heart stopped. "Shot? Is he. . . is he still alive? Please tell me he is."
My mom slowly shook her head. "He died before the ambulance made it to the hospital." The tears were falling down her face now. "I'm sorry."
I pushed the doors with force while tears quickly filled my eyes. I marched out of the school, knowing my mom was following me without looking back.
