President of the Whole Sixth Grade_Girl Code

by Sherri Winston

  “Shh!” I said.

  She smiled, saying, “Seriously, I think you should be happy he wants to hang out. And that you guys are friends.” The smile struggled to stay on her face as she continued, “Since you’ll be moving up there in the summer, it’ll be nice having a friend nearby.”

  I’d released my foot and was now sitting in front of her like a mirror image. We sat like that, facing each other, not speaking. Finally, I said, “We’re not moving! Well, not definitely!”

  She gave me a look.

  “What?” I sputtered. “I don’t want to think about leaving. I can’t. I won’t.”

  “So,” she said, “instead, let’s concentrate on how much friendship we can squeeze into the next few months. Whatever the future brings, let’s just focus on being there for each other and being AWESOME together!”

  She leaned forward and so did I. We had the most ridiculous hug—rocking back and forth while sitting crisscross applesauce. Red was my friend. Even though we met only a few months ago, we’ve gotten really close.

  How could I even think about leaving?

  Reporter’s Notebook

  Friday, January 26

  Writing news features with multiple subjects:

  “The first thing that I try to do is visualize the story, thinking of it as a play with multiple acts. Then I try to visualize my characters, how each of them fits into the larger puzzle or storyline. I approach easy subjects first. I find that they help me prepare for my larger or more complex subjects. By the time I get to my main “characters” I have a good sense of the story and what are the right questions to ask. Then I quickly sit down to write the one scene or moment that stayed with me the most.”

  —Audra Burch, enterprise correspondent, national staff, New York Times

  19

  The jitteriness started in my heart.

  And it spread all the way to my toes.

  Red and I were pressed close to each other in the Free Press newsroom. All our notes were spread across the desktop. We separated everything into categories:

  1. Price Academy girls

  2. Two interviews with girls from other schools

  3. Miss Talia Newsome, the teacher representative for SheCodes

  4. Teachers, such as Mr. Hardaway at Price and our new science teacher, Miss Miata, who had some interesting things to say

  5. The women scientists who organized the events

  On top of the interviews, we had a lot of data—numbers and figures, percentages and real numbers, values and statistics. It was a lot to digest.

  “The numbers are important,” Mr. McShea reminded us, “but remember, the real star of this piece is the impact, the meaning this workshop could have for the community.”

  We nodded. Organizing our school interviews and going over them again, we decided to review our interviews with the girls and look for the quotes and statements that stood out the most.

  “I really thought this was a good one,” I said, indicating with my finger one of my favorite interviews that day. The quote I thought was best:

  “I first got involved because Miss Newsome told my grandma about it and she made me start coming to the science club after school. But then I started to like coming. Miss Newsome helped me get better at math and that gave me more confidence. I want to be an actress, but she told me that earning a science or technology degree didn’t mean I had to give up on acting. A lot of celebrities have degrees. Some go on to use them, others don’t. Most of all, I want to do something that makes me feel good about myself and helps my family. Living on the east side, sometimes all you think you can do is get in trouble. I’m glad Miss Newsome has shown me there are other things, too. I’m excited to see what I learn from the workshop.”

  —Christyanna Webb, seventh grader, Price Academy

  Red then shared her favorite quote. “She reminded me a lot of you, Justice!”

  “My name is Nadia Marie Robinson, and the reason I want to attend the workshop and learn about computers is because I want to design computer games. I want to make better games than the ones my brother plays—the kind where you only break the law and shoot at the police. We got enough of that going on for real. My games are gonna be better than that and I’m going to make a LOT of money!”

  –Nadia Marie Robinson, sixth grader, Price Academy

  “Okay, she does sound like me a little,” I admitted. We laughed. Of course, both of us heard Mrs. G.’s voice in the back of our minds about the importance of including “visuals” so we made sure we had photos of the girls.

  Then we got down to the good stuff, going over our interviews with the event organizers.

  I had spoken with Dr. Quincy Brown. She was in charge of, like, all the programs for STEM—science, technology, engineering, and math. Even though I participated in elementary, I’ve been too involved with other things since I got to middle school.

  Anyway, it was so cool the way Dr. Brown, who is a lady, thank you very much, talked to me like a grown-up when she explained why programs that help disadvantaged kids also benefit society.

  “I think of computer science as being important for everyone. The challenge has been that not enough of us—people of color—have been engaged in that space. More of us need to be here. What we bring, our culture, our wisdom and collective insights. We need to be involved with creating solutions to problems that affect us. What we bring to the table needs to be shared with everyone.”

  We’d talked about a movie that came out about these African American women scientists who helped with the NASA program and the nation’s first moonwalk. I told her I’d been surprised to hear about it—even Mom and Dad had been surprised.

  If black women played such a critical role in the success of America’s space program, why was it so unknown until now?

  “We’ve just let other people tell our history. That’s why so few people understand our contributions to math, science, and computer technology.”

  Then I read another quote aloud, nodding to Buffalo Bob, who I could tell was dying to come over. With a broad grin on his face, he said, “I’m proud of you girls. This is good stuff. Can’t wait to read it in the paper tomorrow.”

  Then Red and I dove into the story, clicking and typing and fretting and sweating. It was tougher than cheer practice, with an extra dose of fear thrown in. Deadlines for real newspapers are no joke.

  But by six o’clock we’d been edited, questioned, grilled, double-checked, and practically interrogated for hidden statistics, misused quotes, and poor grammar.

  Still, victory was ours. We won. The story went to press.

  Later that night we celebrated at my house with pizza. Red’s mom and dad joined my crazy family, including Angel cat plus the variety of critters Katy kept stashed in various places around the house.

  We ordered huge steaming pepperoni pizza pies, meat lovers, veggie, even that pineapple and ham garbage Dad loved. When we had everything spread out on the counters, we helped ourselves and camped out in the den.

  “To our beautiful daughters,” saluted Mr. Chastain, holding his meat lovers slice high in a toast. “We are so proud of both of you girls!”

  “Cheers!” we all said.

  Mom said, “So tomorrow’s the big day, right? We finally get to see the fruits of all your labor?”

  “I hope you guys like it. We worked really hard,” I said, feeling uncharacteristically shy about it. Red and I had put so much time into the project, the idea of anyone thinking it was boring or unprofessional almost made me sick.

  Almost.

  Not so much, though, that it got in the way of my yummy pepperoni slice.

  “You girls may not understand yet, but telling positive stories in the newspaper, especially about areas that see more than their fair share of negative press, is so important,” Miss Addy said. I was glad she’d stayed after my disastrous plan blew up.

  We all talked about everything and nothing, funny stuff, movies. When we turned on the television, a news update pop
ped up. It was Yavonka Steele with Julian Berger.

  “Turn it up! Turn it up!” I yelled.

  Dad hit the volume button.

  “Tonight at ten, investigative reporter Yavonka Steele goes undercover to expose a car theft ring. And this time, she’s sharing the spotlight with her very own middle school mentee. Tune in tonight!”

  Red and I exchanged glances.

  Then I realized my whole family and the Chastains were staring at me.

  I burst out laughing.

  “Poor Julian,” I said, meaning it. “He looked terrified.” Then I got this tickle inside. I’d realized something. Yavonka Steele’s news was flashy and in your face. But when I thought about spending time at Price Academy, meeting so many people, then writing stories that might in some small way improve how the kids feel about themselves and how the rest of Detroit feels about them, too, I knew feature writing was better for me than breaking news.

  I glanced across the room at Mom. Did helping people as an FBI agent feel as important to her as my story made me feel? Would moving to D.C. help more people in need?

  Mr. Chastain said, “Has this experience of working with journalists made a difference in terms of what you hope to do when you grow up?”

  Red’s cheeks were stuffed with pizza, so I went first.

  “Um, I don’t know. I mean, I was so excited about the idea of being a journalist. I thought I wanted to be a television newsperson. But now I think, maybe I wanted to be famous and rich more than I wanted to be a journalist,” I said.

  Miss Addy laughed. “Baby, there’s nothing wrong with being famous or rich.”

  We all chuckled at that. I said, “I know. But after doing all this research about women in science and technology, I’m not saying that now I want to study computer science, but it’s made me realize I can if I want to.”

  “Of course you can!” Mom said.

  Miss Addy smiled, her eyes turning mischievous. She said, “Brianna, Red, I think you girls should come up to Mackinac Island for the summer. Spend some time working at my inn and in my fudge factory. Get a sense of truly owning your own business.”

  I glanced from Mom to Red. Mom said, “I think that would be excellent. Owning a business is a lot harder than one might think.”

  Okay, I got the message. Fortunately, Red had swallowed the massive lump of pizza she’d been chewing. She shifted the conversation back to reporting, saying, “I really liked the journalism stuff more than I thought I would. I’ve already talked to Mrs. G. about starting my own blog and maybe hosting it through the school.”

  We bumped knuckles. She’d told me her plan last week and I thought it was awesome. I said, “And I’ve decided that tomorrow at the SheCodes workshop, I’m going to keep an open mind. If being a millionaire baker or a world-renowned journalist aren’t in my future, who knows? Maybe being a famous scientist is.”

  Reporter’s Notebook

  Saturday, January 27

  “To be persuasive we must be believable; to be believable we must be credible; to be credible we must be truthful.”

  —Edward R. Murrow

  “I’ve always wanted girls to just feel empowered. Just the sense of knowing they can create anything they want. Even if they don’t know how exactly but knowing they can figure out exactly what they want; the fact that you know you can do it.”

  –Dr. Quincy Brown, Program Director, STEM Education Research, American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS)

  20

  It was finally the day of the SheCodes event.

  I’d never seen anything like it. Even my leadership conference in D.C. paled by comparison.

  Beautiful colorful banners hung from the ceilings. Nicely dressed women in their business best roamed around the wide-open space.

  “Welcome!” called a black woman in a bright red dress. Her long hair was in tiny braids. As I looked around, I saw women everywhere. Women and girls. Black, Hispanic, Asian, and white. All colors, shades, and sizes. I even saw one of the ladies I’d interviewed at the basketball game. She had a little girl and three boys with her! No one said anything about the boys, so I guessed it was all good.

  A long table sat outside a set of double doors. The women at the table asked our names and gave us name tags when Mr. McShea introduced us.

  The woman looked at my name tag, then Red’s. She said, “You’re our young reporters. The write-up in the paper and online this morning was wonderful. You girls really did a great job!”

  We beamed.

  I had woken up before sunrise and raced down to the kitchen. Grandpa had already snagged the delivered copy of the paper. I had raced to the laptop set up in the kitchen. Both versions looked so professional. For a moment, I was certain Red and I would start getting bombarded with calls to do more professional stories.

  It took a few seconds, but I managed to calm myself down.

  Standing before these smart, innovative women, I stood straighter and did my best to absorb the feeling of empowerment permeating the air.

  My hair had been brushed, gelled, and tugged into the best executive and professional bun I could manage. I wore a white shirt that was extra crisp. And today’s cardigan was red. Finally, to set it off just a little bit more—POW—striped suspenders. Hey, I can have a playful side, too.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” we said.

  She grinned. “We are going to do an opening ceremony inside. Then we’ll break into four different rooms. Now, you are welcome to go to all four break-out sessions on specific areas of technology, or you can read through here”—she pushed a brochure my way—“and choose one. All of the sessions will be recorded, so if you’d like a copy of the recording, we can provide that. Also, in your packet, you’ll have all the names of all the professionals dedicating their time to this worthy cause.” She pushed a folder toward us filled with handouts, tips, and other conference essentials.

  Then another arm encircled our shoulders and we looked up into the smiling face of Coach T.

  “Hey, girls. Don’t you look good in your big-girl clothes!” she almost cheered. We laughed and hugged her and she said we just had to pop into her web design course. We agreed, thanked the registration woman, and took our packets of information.

  At nine a.m., a woman took center stage and began.

  “My name is Gwendolyn deJongh,” she said. “I am a lawyer, but I also hold a patent for an invention.”

  Ms. deJongh went on to explain her lifelong curiosity with gadgets. How in college she’d wanted to study law but never lost her desire to build things and take stuff apart to see how it worked.

  “In college, I invented a device that would make my curls tighter,” she said, indicating the spiraled-looking wand in her hand. “Now they are sold all over the world!”

  Applause.

  Several other women greeted us from the stage and shared stories of how they came to be in their fields. At twenty after, we were told we could participate in whichever hands-on learning program we wanted.

  Red and I both turned to Mr. McShea. “Can we go to the one on robotics?” I asked.

  “Sure. Do you think you’ll want to stay with that one or move around?” We told him we wanted to go to the computer science workshops and learn about design in the afternoon.

  For the next three hours, we not only learned how one young African American woman used a robot to help her design cars for General Motors, but we also got to use computers, modeling clay, tiny mechanical circuits, and soldering tools.

  By the time it was over, we all had tiny little robotic arms that could perform basic functions. Next, we went to the computer science section. Our instructor told us: “To be in computer science you need to learn about the science of computing—algorithms, theories, and how data is stored and manipulated.”

  She told us that big words like algorithm didn’t need to be scary. “It just means the order in which tasks are achieved. You come home from school. You drop your backpack on the floor. You open your fridg
e. You take out a snack. That is the order you do things, so it’s your algorithm for after school.”

  It felt good knowing Miss Miata, our new science teacher, had taught us the same thing.

  But my favorite part of the day came at the robotics demonstration. A woman who designed cars introduced us to her robot, Dolores. And I saw several people in that session whom I’d met before, including Shania, Shakira, and Alicia. No Venus, though.

  Afterward, we all got a chance to talk.

  “This was really awesome,” Alicia said.

  Shania looked sheepish. She said to me, “Girl, after being here all day, I’m starting to feel like the way you talk is cool. All these ladies sound more like you than…”

  “Us,” Shakira said. “And most of them are black and proud!”

  We talked about it for a little while. How all these women represented all kinds of neighborhoods, but they made us feel proud to be who we are. It was a powerful message. Even though I didn’t like thinking of myself as one of those girls who hugs all the time, I couldn’t seem to stop hugging. I embraced the girls and they hugged me back before leaving.

  Somehow, I felt like we’d all learned a good lesson.

  Later, I talked to so many girls and wrote down so many names, I felt like my hand might fall off. Then we talked to even more grown-ups and wrote down even more names.

  When it was all done and we were back in the car, Mr. McShea said he sort of missed me slipping up and calling him “McSweater Vest.” He was taking us downtown to eat at his favorite place, Lafayette Coney Island.

  We ate chili dogs with mustard and onions, French fries, and drank Cokes. We sat there and stuffed our faces and stared at the traffic as it crept along the slushy winter streets, watching people walk briskly past, shoulders hunched up into their necks to keep out the cold air.