The Race

The Battle of Lincoln

Monday, September 08

7:06 am

"Jared! Jared! This is your mother! I'm off to work. I have to prepare for my client's hearing and your father won't be back until Wednesday. Breakfast is on the stove and don't just feed it to Palmer. Love you, dear!" My mother yells through the bathroom door, trying to reach me through the roar of the hot shower.

"Oh, and don't be late for school, please. CP time? I think not!" My mother adds before leaving down the stairs and out the door.

I think I heard something, but I'm not sure if it was Palmer scratching at the door to keep me company or Miss Wilma humming her church hymns, while mindlessly turning my bed. I peek out from behind the shower curtain to check the clock and I'm right on time. I've got two more minutes to screlt how I'm "100% that bitch", get dressed by 7:15, chug a cup of OJ, feed Palmer my breakfast and meet Onyx, EJ and the vanilla bean frappe waiting for me at The Four Fathers Cafe. All while proofreading the speech Onyx wrote for me, so that I can actually say I read it before she questions me about each talking point.

Oh, yeah. Forgot to mention. Onyx and I are running for school council this year and I think I have a pretty good shot. I mean, the only other person running is Edwin Schuester and no one has actually heard him say a word since the first grade, so, I think I'm good. By this point, I finish lacing up my brown Chelsea boots and button down my collar before I'm down in the kitchen, Palmer right on my heels. I make sure Wilma is still upstairs before I let Palmer out back and dump the contents of Wilma's concoction behind a bush. Palmer inhales the breakfast and innocently looks up with those cliche puppy dog eyes, begging for more where that came from. I rush through the kitchen, laying the cleaned plate on the island. Wilma waits at the door with a raincoat in one hand and an umbrella in the other.

"Miss Wilma. Another divine breakfast, indeed. How do you stay so consistent day after day?" I sweet-talk her as she helps me into the coat.

"Oh, Mr. Easton. You know exactly how to make me blush. If I told you my secret to consistency, you'd be president, YESTERDAY!"

"I'm sure my parents would love that!" I take the umbrella and quickly open the door, en route to coffee and a new year of adventure. Miss Wilma slows the door shut behind me and turns to Palmer wagging his tail, knowing who the real culprit was.

"So, little Palmer, be honest with me. How was it?"

____________________________________________________________

It isn't long before I'm rounding the corner and I unlock my phone to the PDF that Onyx sent me last night. I peruse the first couple of pages, just enough to get the gist of the piece. The introduction is welcoming and warm, segwaying into the topic of what it means to be black in America. I thought I told her that I strictly do not want to use my race to win this election. I don't have to really do much to win, just put my name next to Edwin's on the ballot and I'm good.

Sent at 7:25

3044753198

Hey. How are you?

Disclaimer. I feel like the universe should just know that I absolutely despised when random numbers text me or call me. Like, how did you get my number? What strength did you summon to even start typing and what exactly makes you think I will reply back? I swipe the notification away and go back to reading the ending of the speech announcing my candidacy and as I step down I her screeching tires and the full power of a car horn in my right ear.

"Excuse me? Could you chill out?" I yell.

"Could you watch where you're going , instead of answering Grindr hookups at 7am, fag?" Garrett Liverman. Lincoln High's star line backer and my pain in the ass since second grade.