"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?"
----
Harmony's older brother was found dead, and the cop who killed him wasn't charge...
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⚜
It was day one of Khalil's death being brought to court. I couldn't bear to attend, so I went to school instead.
Wrong decision.
As Leala and I walked into school, the other white kids would stop what they were doing to stare daggers at her.
"What's their motherfucin' issue? I'll solve it real quick." Leala flipped her hair while staring back at them, making the girls scoff before gossiping once more.
When we got into the school, Leala informed me that she had to leave to go have a meeting in some teacher's classroom. I didn't want her to leave, but I let her go anyway. I hated when people were clingy, so I didn't want to be clinging to her all day like Velcro.
David's familiar scent engulfed me while I opened my locker. "Where've you been? I didn't see you at—" I gasped once I read what was in my locker. There were unimaginable racial slurs spray-painted in there, notes for me to 'go back where I came from', etc. I noticed a couple of girls snickering out of my peripheral vision. "I'm going to talk to the principal."
David grabbed my wrist before I could walk. "Why? What's the problem?"
"Wh. . . What's the problem?" I felt the hot tears coming along and blinked them back. "David, those girls over there thought it would be funny to put racial slurs in my locker."
"And?"
"And?!" I threw my arms up in the air. "Do you not see the issue? David, I'm black, since you've clearly forgotten, and some Caucasians writing 'nigger' in my locker is a huge fucking problem," I whisper-yelled at him.
"I mean," he ran his hand through his cute brown curls, "they just want to get a reaction out of you and, apparently, they have. You're letting them win."
"Letting them win?" I scratched my forehead, becoming frustrated with him. I shook my head—deciding not to further the argument. I walked calmly past him and down the hall to where my first-period class was located.
I knew David was a different race than me, but holy guacamole, I didn't expect him to be that clueless about my history. I thought he would've at least known a little bit about African Americans if we were gonna jump into a relationship with me.
Maybe I'm just expecting too much.
⚜
I tucked some of my hair behind my ear while I continued to write my LEQ on how the Native Americans impacted the United States. I sighed as the paper kept floating up and unzipped by backpack to grab a book to hold it down. I stared into the trees that were far away from me before writing again.
I liked to do most of my homework in the park or somewhere outside. It was much better than being home and listening to my mom blab on and on about staying out of trouble and my dad constantly wanting to retaliate. They were complete opposites that clicked. Kinda like me and David.
"And we meet again."
I jumped but calmed down when I recognized the voice to belong to Calo. "Hi." I smiled motioning for him to take a seat.
"Why are you always in the park this late?" Calo sat on the table in front of me.
"Because I don't like going home to do homework. And sit on the bench; it's here for a reason."
Calo tilted his head, ignoring me. "There's a library down the street."
"Too quiet." I bit my pencil's eraser while I thought of what I could write for my complexity.
"So, your reasoning for being at the park this late is because you don't want to be at your house, and you also like the noises that it brings?"
"Correct." I began writing again.
"You could've just said that the first time." Calo chuckled.
"Well, I'm sorry, I don't like opening up to strangers." I flipped my hair over my shoulder so I could write better.
"Everyone's a stranger until you get to know them. So, your point?"
"Shut the fuck up." I laughed. That made me realize that I haven't laughed in a while. I guess I could thank Calo for that.
Calo's face got serious. "I. . . I saw Khalil's funeral on the News."
"Shocker," I sarcastically stated. Everything was on the News lately. I felt like I was living a reality TV show.
"I'm sorry."
"For. . .?" I got my binder out of my backpack.
"Your brother's death. He died—"
"Too soon; I know. I've heard that same line a billion and one times." I rolled my eyes.
"Have you thought about what we talked about last time we met here?"
"The protests?" I zipped up my backpack and then sat on the table beside him.
"Yeah."
"I dunno. I feel like I don't have a voice, or if I did, it wouldn't matter," I admitted staring at the slowly rising moon.
"Your voice may not be loud alone, but with others, you can move mountains."
I scoffed. "Me? Little ol' me?"
"Yeah, you. And you're not little. You're a strong, independent black woman. You gotta stand on that platform. Walk like you know you got it going on; I'm sure all the guys notice. Believe me, I would know."
I blushed. "But what is there to protest about?"
My phone dinged with an incoming message from my mom:
Officer Roland was found not guilty of murder. They said he was defending himself because he thought Khalil had a gun. I'm sorry sweetie.
"Looks like you've just found your answer," Calo said after reading the message over my shoulder.
