I frowned again, unable to answer. When she said it like that, she made me realize that the Price kids were trying to make a point—that if you’re hardworking with few resources, that makes you a real black person. But if you’re living in the suburbs working for your dreams, you’re somehow less black.
That thinking was no better than me thinking that just because you lived in a disadvantaged neighborhood, it meant you were ghetto. Just so you know, I’m never using the G word again. (Good-bye, “Go Ask Darnell.” You are not funny anymore!)
She kissed me on the cheek as the revelation dawned in my eyes. I squeezed her and said, “Thank you for everything!”
We got back to work, dipping the cupcakes in ganache, then topping them with rich, creamy chocolate frosting. I thought about Toya loaning me the Raisin in the Sun DVD.
“Miss Addy, have you ever heard of a movie called A Raisin in the Sun? I watched it recently.”
Her eyes grew round and shiny.
“When I was ten years old, my mama and her Alpha Kappa Alpha sorority sisters took me with them to see the production on Broadway. It was such a huge honor and one of the most amazing experiences of my life.”
We discussed the play. How it was about a black family in Chicago who received a large sum of money, enough to leave their rough neighborhood and buy a nice home in a white neighborhood. Only to find out the neighbors decided before meeting them, without seeing them, that they weren’t wanted.
“It was the first play by an African American woman to appear on Broadway,” I said, remembering what I’d read online.
Grandma twirled a freshly dipped cupcake until the ganache dripped slowly into the bowl. She nodded, saying, “Back then, that was a big, big deal. After the play came out, we learned a lot about why she wrote it. The story in the movie was influenced by her life. Her family had been part of a class-action lawsuit claiming they were being denied housing based on race.”
I remembered what Buffalo Bob said and his wife’s essay. Ghettos came about because minorities were pushed into certain areas. Wherever minorities lived, regardless of how nice or grimy, it was called a ghetto.
In a soft voice fraught with the shame and guilt that had been weighing on me like a heavy meal, I told her about Price Academy. How scared I’d been to go.
“I was stereotyping other black people based on where they live,” I said in a hoarse whisper. Eyes filling up, I went on. “I’d never thought of myself as that kind of person, but I guess I was. But being called ‘Oreo’ and treated like I was so different, well, it’s made me really feel confused.”
Miss Addy said, “Honey, I have a lot of black history in these old bones. I’ve seen a lot over the years. What I want you to get out of everything that has happened is we as black folks in America watch the same news and study the same history in school as everybody else. Don’t beat yourself up about getting the same message.”
“What message?” I asked.
“That we should be afraid of black folks or, at the very least, amused by them,” she said softly.
“Miss Addy, I don’t go around at school thinking about who’s black and who isn’t or anything like that. To be honest, sometimes, like when we’re learning stuff in history about slavery, it makes me feel funny. Bad. I don’t want to see myself like that. I don’t want to think about my ancestors that way.”
She grinned and shook her head.
“Baby, there’s more to black history than slavery and poverty. Look at the story you’re writing for the paper. A bunch of educated black women coming together for the betterment of other black women. I can’t think of anything more positive and beautiful. Remember, just because you’ve learned part of the story of how our country came to be great, it doesn’t mean you know the whole story. People of all colors have contributed to our fine nation in ways you can’t yet understand.
“Find their stories. Share their culture. Make your life and the lives of your children stronger by knowing more,” she said.
I hugged her, then told her I’d just gotten an idea for Black History Month. A story for the Blueberry and a Presidents’ Day challenge for the sixth grade. I explained what I was thinking.
“I love it!” she exclaimed.
So did I!
I spoke with Mr. and Mrs. G. about my ideas.
They gave me the green light, which made me let out a huge sigh of relief.
Plan number one involved my friend Click and our latest mini-movie with the LEGOs. Once a week we put together funny little stories—stop-motion movies that wind up being about a minute long. However, they can take hours, days to finish.
Since we didn’t need it until the Friday before Presidents’ Day in February, we still had time. But with my schedule so packed, I thought it would be best to start early.
We used to record our mini-movies at Click’s house until Mrs. G. found space for us in a room that used to be a radio station at the school.
It had windows that looked out into the hallway. Now, whenever we worked on our movie sets, kids could walk by and watch us. I always liked that. Click, well, he was so focused, I don’t know if he much noticed the noses pressed against the glass.
“What’s up with this idea?” he asked. So I explained my idea for a Presidents’ Day tribute with a mini-movie.
Instead of doing a funny little LEGO story about what it’s like to be in middle school, I wanted us to do a story about the Fair Housing Act.
“Say whaaaaaaat?” asked Click. He did this exaggerated pull to one side with his long body that made me bark out a laugh. I gave him a playful push.
“Okay, hear me out.” I told him about my embarrassing education at the newspaper office concerning the origins of the word ghetto.
He said, “I never knew that the word ghetto started way back in the fifteen hundreds. Being Mexican American, I thought the same thing. The only time I see anything about ghettos, it’s either brown people like me or black people like you. But Jewish people, too?”
“The word ghetto did not start with our people,” I said.
“But how are we going to do a LEGO movie about a housing act and make it work?”
“It’s called the Fair Housing Act of 1968. It made it illegal for anyone to discriminate against a person because of their race, religion, or whatever when it comes to buying or renting a house,” I explained.
My idea was this:
We’d set up a neighborhood and make these little FOR SALE signs to place on the lawns. The mini-figures would go from house to house and get the door shut in their faces.
With his eyes widened, Click jumped in:
“And in between frames, we can insert shots—photos of sixth graders—holding signs about discrimination.”
“That’s right! And we can add something about how calling people or places ghetto isn’t cool, especially when you only know half the story!” I said.
You might not know this about Click, but he loves his LEGOs and he loves his stop-motion movies. And when he gets a really awesome story idea he can do with the mini-figures and buildings, that boy gets hyped!
“B, are you serious right now?” he practically shouted, jumping up and down. People outside the window were laughing. “This is going to be crazy good, girl!” After that, we gathered the pieces we kept locked in the storage closet.
We agreed that while Click set up the neighborhood, I would get started on the text that would go with the movie. Then we got to work.
An hour later we had taken about two hundred pictures, but we still had many more to go.
“Wanna see how it looks so far?” Click asked.
“Absolutely,” I said.
He used his phone to take the pictures, then plugged that directly into the laptop. The video-editing program organized the photos and when you played them all together, it made the pieces appear to move.
He hit a few keys on his laptop and the little movie started to replay. No matter how many times we did it, the movies always blew my mind
a little. They were amazing to see all put together like that.
A knock at the glass practically scared the snot out of me. Click and I both turned sharply and saw three faces pressed to the hallway window. Two kids from our journalism class and some other kid. They all must’ve been on the basketball team and were coming from practice.
“Yo, man! That’s dope!” came the muffled voice of the tallest one. “Can we come in?”
Click looked at me. I shrugged. The area where we were working wasn’t that big, but we could probably squeeze them in. I nodded and Click went to ask permission from Mrs. G., who always stayed late when we worked after school.
A few seconds later he came back with the three sweaty basketball players from the window. Did you ever notice that no matter what they’re doing, boys are just plain loud? Middle school boys especially.
They had just come from practice, so they didn’t smell so good, either!
“Hey, President Girl!” said one of the boys.
“Hey,” I said, glancing up.
“So what’s the story this week?” asked another one of the boys.
When I looked up, the one who’d called me President Girl was just staring at me. I narrowed my eyes at him and asked, “Can I do something for you?”
Then he did a long, slow grin. “Well, yeah. You could—”
I cut him off. One look at his face and I could see he was having some puberty problems.
“Boy, please!” I said with an eye roll.
The other boys, Click included, started laughing and saying, “Ahh-ha, man. She shut you down!”
I laughed, too, and after that everything got chill. Sure, everyone wanted to work near the window, so we were pressed into a tight space that was beginning to smell like gym socks and corn chips. However, the boys were really into it. They even helped us with the set and moving the pieces.
Which left me free to concentrate on what to write between film clips. As much as I was into my project, I started to feel this tightness in my chest. That usually happened when I had a lot going on.
And I always had a lot going on.
Presidents’ Day was right around the corner. Not only did that mean completing this movie project, it also meant finishing another project for the Blueberry that I’d suggested to Mrs. G.
Not to mention, Neptune was coming to Detroit that weekend.
Oh, and did I mention our cheer team’s first exhibition was the Saturday before Presidents’ Day?
Ugh!
Then there was my SheCodes program interview. McSweater Vest told us he’d set up interviews over the phone with the woman who co-founded the SheCodes foundation.
So much to do! Add cooking at the bakery a few times a week, homework, and cheerleading practice and woooo-goodness! It was getting rough.
That thought made me think about the biggest issue in my life—Mom.
The more I looked at my to-do list the more I had begun to realize that she was—gulp!—right. Going to a parent and admitting you’re wrong and they’re right is like asking for medicine. It’s just wrong!
Still, I was determined to figure something out. I didn’t like walking around the house being extra polite and not acting like us.
Then I felt something on my neck and realized it was someone’s breath. I spun and found one the guys staring down at my hair bun.
“What are you doing?” I asked, giving him a shove.
“Girl, you strong!” declared one of the other boys. Ugh! It’s like being in a room full of puppies.
I was no longer paying them any attention. I was looking at my caller ID screen.
“Hello,” I said. My heart had begun pounding. My throat felt dry.
“Brianna, hey, this is Mom,” came the voice.
“Baby, I’m picking you up from school today instead of Granddad,” she said. Then came the four most dreaded words a mother can say to her kid:
“We need to talk!”
Reporter’s Notebook
Wednesday, January 24
Does a girl have to be a genius to be good at computer science?
“To be a good computer scientist, a young lady only needs to be curious, like solving problems, and want to help or change the world. That’s really it! The way that computer science programs in college are set up, she should also learn to like math (because she’ll take a good amount of it in college).”
—Dr. Jakita Thomas, PhD, Philpott-WestPoint Stevens Associate Professor of Computer Science and Software Engineering at Auburn University and 2016 recipient of the Presidential Early Career Award for Scientists and Engineers
Technology note:
What kind of jobs can you get with a computer science degree?
• Database administrator
• Games developer
• IT consultant
• Web designer
• Web developer
• Digital copywriter
Hmm…
I’ve never heard of most of these jobs before. Entry-level, which means when you first start out, pay is around $52,000 a year; but the average salary for someone with a computer science career is about $80,000 a year. Not a million dollars, but not bad.
17
My heart beat so hard I thought it would knock out the car window.
Thankfully, the car ride was short. The window was safe. My heartbeat, however, did not slow down.
She stopped at my favorite restaurant, the Chili’s on 10 Mile Road. Uh-oh. An unexpected Mommy-and-me date at my favorite restaurant. That had trouble written all over it.
We’d placed our orders and exchanged minor chitchat. It took about everything I had not to jump over the table and say sorry, sorry, sorry, please don’t send me to military school!
However, Mom spoke first. She surprised me, reaching across the table and taking both my hands into hers.
“So, baby girl, let’s get down to it,” Mom said.
She drew a deep breath, then said, “I’m so sorry about our blowup. I know you get excited and just want to do and try some of everything, and I love that about you.”
A HUGE lump formed in my throat. She was apologizing to me?
“No, Mom…” I tried cutting in. She squeezed my fingers a little harder, shaking her head.
“Please, I know you want to speak, but let me finish.” She drew a big breath and let it out. She told me it was her job to worry about me, protect me, and provide for me. She said she loved how motivated I was by life, but, as I was learning, sometimes I got too involved and wanted to do too much at the same time.
“Mom, I’m sorry, too. I have so many things going on right now, I guess I can’t imagine adding an online business. But you’re right, I want to do everything so much.”
Mom laughed. “Girl, I know you. And you, Brianna Justice, gotta learn how to chill once in a while. Pace yourself.”
We both took sips from our drinks and dipped our salty chips into the salsa. After a few minutes, Mom’s expression went soft and she gave me a funny look.
Uh-oh. There was more.
“Brianna, my boss had a long talk with me yesterday. If I’m going to accept the job in D.C., they need my decision this week. Like, tomorrow. I’ve talked to your dad and Katy. Now I’m talking to you.”
My body snapped into rigid attention. Nerve endings zinged and fired. No, no, no, no! Not right now when everything was getting good again.
She reached out and grabbed my hands again.
“You girls, your dad, you’ve been my whole life. But in families, sacrifices sometimes have to be made. It’s scary. It might not seem fair, but it happens. The way you feel about your journalism, cheering, baking, and wanting to start a business, that’s how I feel about what I do.
“Getting this promotion is a huge deal for me. For all of us. Please say you’ll think about it. That you’ll try to…”
I was shaking my head. “Mom, please don’t make me leave. Please?”
She came around and slid in beside me, gathering me cl
ose to her like she did when I was little. She rocked me back and forth. I know. Terribly embarrassing for a class president and future Pulitzer Prize–winning journalist. But I didn’t care.
“Oh, baby, try not to take it so hard. Do you think it would really be that bad if you had to leave after sixth grade?”
“YES!” I cried. “Mom, please. Just ask your boss for a little more time. Think about it. I’ll do anything. ANYTHING! Mom, I’m not ready. I’m just not ready.”
Finally, she let out a long sigh. Pulling away from me, she looked into my eyes and said, “All right, Brianna. I’ll tell him I need more time. But I need you to really give this some thought.”
I dried my face with a napkin. “What if after I take some time I decide I really don’t want to go. Would we really stay?”
“Baby, I honestly don’t know. I don’t want you to be miserable. I think we can all be happy in D.C. if you give it a chance,” she said.
So there was a chance! My heart felt all warm and glowy. I said, “I’ll think about all the reasons it might not be so bad to leave, if you’ll think about all the reasons it would be awesome to stay. Deal?”
“Deal,” she said. She tried to smile, but her eyes had that worried Mom look. Was I being selfish?
I couldn’t think about it. I just wasn’t ready to say good-bye to my friends and my life. Not yet!
We had a few more days to get ready for the SheCodes workshop.
The story had to be good. Better than good. Spectacular!
Only, now I wasn’t worried about being better than Julian Berger or anything like that. I was really curious about how the conference would go, who would be there, and what I might learn.
See, the more I researched careers in technology, the more excited I became. Weird, right? I’d learned a lot about computers and coding. Thinking about the Mom situation, I wished I could come up with a computer program to tell me what to do or how to act.
President of the Whole Sixth Grade_Girl Code Page 11
