Take Back the Block
Page 15
Kari stood behind Mom, staring at the ground. Even with his head down, I could see his bulging black eye. For the second time in one day, I was speechless.
“Thanks, Hank. We appreciate you looking after Wes,” Mom said as Mr. Hank got up from his nap in the recliner.
“No problem at all. Y’all got that boy straight?” Mr. Hank asked the question like he didn’t notice Kari was there. But I knew he noticed….Mr. Hank notices everything. He walked toward the door and patted Kari on the back.
“That’s a task for a new day,” Dad said to himself as he locked the door behind Mr. Hank.
I didn’t think Kari was mad at me, but we hadn’t spoken since Thanksgiving, so I couldn’t be sure. I stole another quick glance at his eye. It wasn’t that bad…for a black eye.
Dad moved away from the door and turned to me. “Kari will be staying with us for a while. We need to set some ground rules, but we’ll talk more about that in the morning.”
All it took was Kari getting beat up again for my parents to see he needed to live with us. They should have listened to me the first time!
“Okay, guys, off to bed we go. Wes, you have school tomorrow. Grab a blanket and a pillow for Kari,” Mom instructed. “Kari, you taking the couch or Wes’s room?”
“Couch,” Kari said. His voice sounded broken.
My stomach twisted. Kari always slept in my room when he stayed over.
I stacked a blanket and a pillow on the couch and wandered to my room.
I sprawled out across my bed and counted the beams on the ceiling from the streetlight shining outside my window. My brain sped in circles. How long will Kari stay? Does Kari even want to live here now? I wanted Kari here, but not like this.
I nodded off to sleep thinking about how fixing one thing ended up messing up something else.
I jerked awake when I heard footsteps in the hall. My door creaked open.
“Kari?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said.
“You good?”
“I don’t know.”
Kari stepped inside and lay across the bottom of my bed, his feet hanging off the edge.
“You mad at me?” I asked.
“Nah,” Kari said. “I just feel like I didn’t belong anywhere. Not in that apartment downtown, or that hotel, or at my aunt’s.”
That hit me hard. I’d never once doubted where I belonged—I’ve always had a home with Mom and Dad. I just wanted that same thing for Kari.
“You belong here,” I said. “In the Oaks. We’re a family. Glad you’re back home.”
I spent the morning of my twelfth birthday in summer heat carrying a sign that read TAKE BACK THE BLOCK.
A neighborhood on the east side of town was being torn apart. I was raising my voice to call out wrong things—I’d made sure to put on old sneakers, and I had gotten in some video game time the night before—so I didn’t mind being there.
I spotted Brent walking across the construction site toward me; he’d grown at least an inch taller since the last time I’d seen him, and at least three inches over summer break.
“Brent, my man!” I called out. “Glad you came.”
“Thanks for the invite. I’m your birthday present,” Brent laughed, spreading his arms out wide. “So don’t expect anything later.”
Car horns beeped when the crowd spilled into the intersection in front of the construction site. I wasn’t sure if the beeps were in dispute or support, but it didn’t matter. The people of this neighborhood needed help. Brent, Kari, Jas, Alyssa, Mya, and I linked arms and stood in front of the construction site.
Yep, even Mya was there. I knew it was because Alyssa had begged her to come, but that was okay.
Mya and Kari had actually made up. I’d staged an intervention to get them cool again. Mya explained to Kari that it hurt her feelings when he didn’t squash the rumor. She also agreed that she’d overreacted a bit. They hugged it out—clicking the last pieces of the puzzle into place, making the crew whole again.
* * *
• • •
Dad drove us back to my house to get cleaned up; then it’d be party time. I could hardly wait.
We’d spent the summer renovating the Oaks. After we got the historic place designation, the city donated twenty thousand dollars to make improvements to the neighborhood. We’d bought shiny new street signs, brighter bulbs for the streetlights, and a brand-new stone marker for the entrance of the neighborhood. We even had enough left over to get new rims and nets for the court.
I’ve turned into Mom—a much flyer version. I guess I do have that thing deep inside pushing me to seek out my own way. I am a leader.
Today was the unveiling of the renovated park; it was the perfect way to celebrate my birthday. The park was decked out with gold and white balloons and matching streamers. Flowers bloomed everywhere, all planted by Ms. Watkins. And best of all, the freshly bronzed water fountain shone from its new concrete pedestal.
DJ Jas’s speaker blared above our heads while Brent and Alyssa got the crowd dancing—even Mr. Hank joined in. Mya danced through the crowd handing out fancy chocolate-covered ice cream bars, her birthday gift to me and a peace offering to the Oaks.
When Mom gave me the signal, I called everyone over to the fountain. “Welcome to the newly dedicated Frederick Pippin Village Park,” I announced. “I’m happy to name this park after a man who deserves to have his legacy remembered. Mr. Pippin created a village here for families just like us; this space is part of our history, and I’m glad that future generations will enjoy it and remember him.”
I stepped up to cut the bright red ribbon, welcoming all my neighbors—new and old—into the park. A tingle of pride sprinkled over me as I looked out at my community. Our community. Our family. Our home.
Thank you for reading Take Back the Block!
While this story is loosely based on my hometown of Charlotte, North Carolina, my first up-close view and understanding of gentrification was during a visit to Harlem—a historic Black neighborhood in New York City that is known for its cultural richness and artistic expression. Nearly ten years ago, on a walking tour of Harlem, I quickly realized a change was happening, a change that would sweep a great amount of Black culture and history out of the city. I left that tour with the thought that gentrification was a big-city problem—until I returned home and faced the sad realization that the same sweeping of history was happening in my own town, just at a slower pace and on a smaller scale. Historic neighborhoods, parks, and restaurants would be there one month and gone the next. Beyond the places, what happened to the children and families? I wondered. That question plagued me for years and eventually became the motivation for Take Back the Block.
Frederick Pippin, his mill, and Pippin Village are fictional, but there are many instances in American history of Black American inventors, artists, and business owners facing struggles similar to those depicted in my book. I wrote this story to shine a light on that reality and on the displacement of people living in urban communities, mostly spaces occupied by people of color.
Charlotte is experiencing an affordable-housing crisis brought on, in part, by rapid gentrification. As I discuss in this book, there is no easy fix. But don’t be discouraged—there are things we can all do:
Speak up! Tell your story.
Join or donate to a local organization dedicated to preserving culture and history.
Write or call your local politicians to make sure they are advocating for marginalized people and spaces.
Share this book with your friends and family.
Thanks,
Chrystal
Never in my biggest dreams did I imagine I would be here, sharing my words in this special moment. The praise for this divine place and path is due to my Savior.
There are some people who believed in the rough form of
this book. Becky Shillington and Elizabeth Yahya, thank you for pushing me to continue down this road. Becky, all your predictions have come true so far; thank you for cheering me on and speaking up for me. Thank you, Skyler (Ari), for being my first young reader.
Many thanks to my critique group for your advice and listening ears.
I am proud to be affiliated with three powerful literary forces—We Need Diverse Books, DVPit, and PitchWars. Because of these resources, I am blessed to have had two mentors along this journey: Gwendolyn Hooks and Maria Frazer. Thank you, Gwen, for so many encouraging words. Maria, you championed this book and taught me so much in such a short time—thank you.
My agent, Elizabeth Bewley at Sterling Lord Literistic, fell for my characters in a matter of hours. Elizabeth, your decisiveness in wanting to represent my work gave me so much confidence. Thank you for guiding me through this whirlwind and keeping my feet steady. Thank you, Danielle Bukowski and Szilvia Molnar at SLL, for working to share my book with the world.
My editor, Shana Corey at Random House Children’s Books, first liked the pitch for this story through DVPit and loved it over a year later when it reached her in-box. Thank you, Shana, for helping me transform this ambitious collection of scenes into a book I am proud to have my name on. You validated my point of view and my characters and didn’t shy away from the cultural aspects of this book. You pushed me to be better.
Thank you to the whole team at RHCB: Polo Orozco, Kathleen Dunn Grigo, Noreen Herits, Dominique Cimina, Barbara Bakowski, Alison Kolani, Barbara Perris, Christine Ma, Janet Foley, Adrienne Waintraub, Erica Stone, Kristin Schulz, Natalie Capogrossi, Shaughnessy Miller, Emily DuVal, John Adamo, Kelly McGauley, and Michelle Nagler. A special thank-you to Sylvia Al-Mateen for your sensitivity notes.
My sincerest gratitude to Michelle Cunningham for designing the cover and to the awesomely talented Richie Pope for the cover art—you brought Wes to life in such a special way.
A sincere thank-you to my fellow Black authors: so many of you inspired me or freely gave advice or encouragement. I am proud to be a part of this movement with you.
I would not have been able to navigate these waters without my therapist. Thank you for helping me find peace.
I come from a family of incredibly strong women. My grandmother Henrietta is the strongest woman I know—I hope I’ve made you proud. I love you, Gram.
My mother, Doris, taught me the power of speaking up and speaking out. Mom, you’ve fought so many battles for so many—thank you for your example.
To my siblings, a warm thank-you to LaShanda and Roddrick: you both exude tenacity and a never-give-up spirit. I love you. Trinisha, you always push me to try new things and conquer my fears. Your persistence is changing the world; keep kicking down doors.
Ezra, my son, my heart, my sweet baby. Everything I thought I knew about myself changed when I looked into your eyes. You inspire me to live life more deeply. I love you.
I am blessed to have a husband who is also my best friend. Jeremy, you believed in me way before I believed in myself. Thank you for being my partner in life and along this journey.
To all aspiring authors: keep writing—your voices and stories matter.
Chrystal D. Giles is making her middle-grade debut with Take Back the Block. Chrystal was a 2018 We Need Diverse Books mentee, and her poem “Dimples” appears in the poetry anthology Thanku: Poems of Gratitude (Millbrook). Chrystal lives in Charlotte, North Carolina, with her husband and son.
chrystaldgiles.com
@creativelychrys
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