Niya's POV
I always believed that the way you start something sets the tone for how it will go. A good morning means a good day. A solid first impression means solid relationships. A promising first step means you’re on the right track. But as I stood at the front gates of Malcolm X High, staring up at the towering building with its bold black and gold banner flapping in the wind, my stomach twisted into knots. Everything about this felt... off. Not bad, exactly. Just like stepping into a new chapter where you don’t know the characters, the plot, or how you fit in.
———
My day started in chaos, just like it always did in my house. You’d think that after 16 years, I’d be used to it. But nope. My little brother, KJ, was hollering in the kitchen about how my mom burned the waffles again. My dad, who worked late shifts at the post office, was snoring so loud it echoed down the hallway. And me? I was stuck in my room, debating which outfit said, “I’m new, but don’t mess with me.”
“Girl, you better come eat before the bus leaves!” my mom yelled from downstairs. Her voice carried that blend of love and authority only Black moms have.
“I’m coming!” I shouted back, holding up two shirts in front of the mirror. One was purple, plain but clean. The other had a tiny Kuromi patch on the pocket. I chose the second one. It wasn’t over the top, but it was enough to give me a little confidence.
I threw on my black jeans and purple Converse, grabbed my bag, and headed downstairs. My Kuromi notebook peeked out from the front pocket, along with matching pens and a folder I’d decorated with little purple stickers the night before.
At the kitchen table, KJ was still fussing. “I ain’t eating that! It’s blacker than Dad’s coffee!”
“Boy, hush,” Mom said, sliding a plate in front of him. “Burned or not, you gon’ eat it. Niya, you ready for your first day?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I said, grabbing a piece of toast.
“You’ll be fine,” she said, giving me a quick kiss on the forehead. “You’re smart, beautiful, and you got that Kuromi vibe. Ain’t nobody messin’ with you today.”
———
The bus was a whole other level of chaotic. Kids were yelling, music was blasting, and someone was already arguing about a game they’d lost last night. I found an empty seat near the back, pulled out my notebook, and started doodling.
“Yo, new girl!” a voice called. I looked up to see a girl with bright red braids and gold hoops. She was leaning over the seat in front of me, chewing gum with a smirk on her face.
“Yeah?” I said, trying to sound calm.
“You like that Hello Kitty stuff?” she asked, pointing at my notebook.
“It’s Kuromi,” I corrected. “And yeah, I do.”
“She cute. You’re into that purple aesthetic, huh?”
“Something like that,” I said with a small smile.
“I’m Jazz. Sit with me at lunch. I’ll introduce you to the crew.”
---
The school was bigger than I expected. The halls were packed with students—mostly Black, with a few other faces here and there. The walls were covered with murals of Malcolm X, Harriet Tubman, and other Black leaders. It was inspiring but also a little intimidating.
“Fresh meat,” someone muttered as I passed.
“Don’t trip, Niya,” I whispered to myself, clutching my bag tighter. I found my locker and started organizing my stuff, trying to ignore the eyes I felt on me.
