Racing to You ✓

05 | changes

The next time I was in Mr.Dubois's class, I was oddly buzzing with anticipation. Not just because of the class, but because of who I would be seeing.

Students slowly milled in, but there was one person in particular I kept an eye on. Who walked in eight minutes late.

Mr.Dubois looked up from the class register, frowning slightly. "Deandre, you're late again."

"Sorry," he muttered, fiddling with the zip of his dark grey jacket.

Mr.Dubois held his gaze. "But you're two minutes earlier than last time. Keep it up."

Once Deandre settIed down in his seat, I looked over at him expectantly, waiting. He didn't even spare me a glance. I snapped my gaze to my notebook in front of me, feeling like a complete fool. What had I been expecting? For him to acknowledge me just because we exchanged a few words the day before? But it wasn't that complicated to say 'hi', right?

The last thought humbled my racing mind. What was stopping me from initiating the conversation? I glanced over my shoulder, noting that there wasn't anyone watching.

I smiled before I could overthink it. "Hi, Deandre."

He stiffened, glanced around the room just like I had done, then mumbled back, "Hey."

Before I could continue the conversation, Mr.Dubois suddenly posed a question. "Can anyone recall some factors that intersect in individuals to create diverse experiences of identity and social roles?"

A few people actually responded.

"Ethnicity."

"Religion?"

"Sexual orientation."

Mr.Dubois smiled approvingly, but suddenly said, "Anything else to add? Deandre, maybe?"

Deandre jumped in his seat and his leg started bouncing under the table. "Uh -- sorry. No, I've got nothing, sir."

The class snickered. Mr.Dubois furrowed his brows. "Settle down, class. No laughing at classmates. Okay, Deandre, let's re-word that. What may contribute to people being treated differently from other people?"

Deandre paused. "How much money you have."

The class quietened as Mr.Dubois nodded. "Socio-economic status, exactly. Does the media, depict those of working class in a certain way?"

Deandre looked up and met Mr.Dubois's gaze. "Of course. All the damn time."

"Could you elaborate on that, please?"

Deandre bit his lip. He seemed to be debating on a delicate way to answer the question. Finally, he settled on, "They may be depicted as a certain demographic of people."

"Exactly. What effects would these stereotypes have?"

"The community from that demographic won't see the opportunities of other things they can become."

Mr.Dubois smiled at him. "You're on the right track. We'll definitely be discussing these kind of things for the rest of the year, so stay keen, kids."

There was a collective mumble of agreement. However, when the class was dismissed, Deandre bolted out the door immediately. I found myself running after him.

"Deandre, hold up," I called out.

He slowed his pace just a fraction, allowing me to catch up.

The words tumbled out of my mouth. "Why do you let people laugh at you? Why don't you stand up for yourself?"

He gave me a sidelong look. "They're not worth it."

I huffed. "It's still not right."

He shrugged. "Better than to draw even more attention."