"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 searched around Starbucks for a good while before locking eyes with Calo. I approached him hastily. I then slid into the booth across from him.
"So, what was it you had to ask me?" I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
"Woah, woah, woah; not so fast." He took a sip of his coffee. "First, how was your day?"
"How are you drinking coffee in the afternoon?"
He shrugged. "It's becoming a habit."
"Don't you have to sleep?" I scrunched my eyebrows together in thought about his health.
"I don't usually sleep until one or two in the morning, anyway." He waved the question off with a dismissal hand. "I'm sure I asked you a question earlier."
"Oh, yeah. My day was. . . okay." I thought back to when those kids—and David—laughed at me in the hall after tripping me up like we were back in middle school or some shit.
"You deal with the racist motherfuckers too?"
"Too," I questioned, now beginning to pick with the bracelet I wore.
Calo let out a laugh. "You think you're the only one going through this shit? Everyone who is a part of this whole thing is receiving the same backlash you are." He took another gulp of his coffee. "You just gotta take what they're doing to you as motivation to keep you moving forward. Think about it, would they react to what you're doing if you're going nowhere?"
I rolled my eyes. "This was what was so damn urgent? A pep talk?"
"No, no, no, no." Calo shook his head, his thick dreads flying back and forth. "I am an intern at someplace with broadcast journalists. A lot of them want to interview you; I even heard that ABC News wanted to ask you some questions." A smile appeared on his face.
"Why— h-how am I supposed to speak on the news?" I rubbed my palms together in my lap under the table.
"It's easy. Write what you generally want to talk about and memorize it. They'll most likely ask you about Khalil—may he rest in peace—and your view on the entire situation."
"I dunno." I ran my fingers through my tangled hair nervously.
"Look at me." I slowly lifted my head to stare into Calo's brown gems. "What are afraid of?"
We stared at each other in comfortable silence while I gathered the courage to tell him. "People." I looked away from him again. Holding eye contact has been a problem of mine for quite some time.
Calo shook his index finger. "Bup, bup, bup, eyes on me." Calo waited until we were gazing into each other's eyes before he began talking. "You're afraid of people doing what, exactly?"
"People. . . doing more than just tripping me up in the hall and spray painting racial slurs in my locker; you do know that I attend an all-white school, right?"
Calo traced the top of his cup with his index finger. "Did you not soak in what I said earlier? Backlash should—"
"Push me to keep going," I interrupted. "Well, Calo, I'm not like most people. Their words hurt me; a lot."
"Why? Low self-esteem?" He propped his elbows on the table with his head resting on his hands.
"What are you? A therapist?" I crossed my arms defensively.
"No. I'm just trying to break down any barriers that are stopping you from achieving what needs to be achieved."
"And who are you to say what's acceptable and what's not?"
Calo finished his drink while we stared at each other in awkward silence. Eventually, I stood and walked out. Calo didn't stop me or yell out my name, much to my surprise.
Maybe he was a little right about the low self-esteem, but it was also because of what I've been taught all my life. My parents told me to stay out of the white people's way so they wouldn't target me or make it even harder for me to graduate from Beverly High. I had to either befriend them or stay out of their way.
That's why I became so soft-spoken around Caucasians. Don't get me wrong, I'm not afraid of them, but it's just a habit to not stand up to them in some cases. I was very proud of myself for even protesting. When I had a cause, I was ready to throw all my teaching down the drain, but if that were true, why didn't I want to be interviewed?
I sighed heavily as I did my homework in the park. How was I sixteen and still had so many things I had to discover about myself?
