I didn’t get what he meant back then. I just thought he was brave. So brave that I bragged to Ma later about our field trip.
She lost her shit.
I was all tucked in my bed, lights out, when the yelling started.
“How dare you!” My mother’s voice was louder than I’d ever heard it.
“Ma, calm down, okay? I—”
“Calm down? Julian, I am still your mother. And I’m his mother, too. How dare you sit him at a table with gang members. What were you thinking?”
“Ma.” Julian’s voice was as steady as our mother’s was furious. “They’re looking for some resolutions, too. They care about the community.”
“If they cared about the community they wouldn’t be doing all the things they do. It’s shameful. And you’re trying to reason with them?”
“You of all people taught me that everyone deserves a fair chance, Ma. Does that only count for certain people?”
“Julian.”
“Change takes time. And patience. And…a willingness to listen to people we may not understand.”
“What I understand is that you had your little brother eating a Happy Meal in front of some of the worst thugs in the county.”
“Thugs, Ma? Really? Listen to yourself.”
“You listen to me: Don’t do this again. I know your intentions are good, but I will not have you endangering Duke’s life.”
It was quiet for a long time after that. Then came Julian’s voice, defiant as ever: “What about my life, Ma?”
“You made it clear a long time ago that you’re going to do what you want, Julian. It’s up to you how you live your life.”
DUKE KEEPS SURPRISING ME. AND I DON’T LIKE IT.
I’m good at reading people. Figuring out their quirks and motivations—sometimes before they’ve even said a word. But every other fact out of his mouth gives me pause and he can see it and that makes me feel…out of control.
I should be thinking about how to respond to Alec instead of trying to figure out this guy I’ll never see again after today.
Traffic is heavy on the way to the elementary school; Duke is preoccupied with his phone, and I’m glad. Maybe if I’m not distracted by him, my mind will clear and I can think calmly about Alec.
It’s not like this is the first time we’ve ever disagreed about something. Alec and I are both strong-willed, and we’re both used to getting our way with things. Me because I don’t like to back down, and him because his parents weren’t in the habit of telling him no when he was growing up. He is one of the rich kids from Salinas Prep that Duke was talking about, and he’s not as bad as that stereotype, but he doesn’t always rise above it.
Up until now, the biggest bump in our relationship was when we talked about colleges back in September. I assumed we’d be on the same page about where to apply, but I guess I also assumed I’d never be a girl who wanted to go to the same college as her boyfriend. Actually, I didn’t really think I’d date at all in high school since I knew how much my parents were paying for me to go to Salinas Prep. I was planning to focus on my studies and get into a top school, maybe fitting in new friends if I found the time. Then Alec showed up in the middle of my very lonely freshman year, and all the plans I’d had for my high school career were rewritten.
We had a couple of casual conversations about college over the summer. Then the discussions became serious as we realized how quickly time was moving.
“I don’t want to apply anywhere you’re not,” he said, sitting across from me at my kitchen table one late August afternoon.
My eyes flew up to meet his. “Really?”
We’d been officially dating two years, since right before the start of sophomore year. We loved each other. I knew I didn’t want to break up with him when we went away to school, but I hadn’t been sure he felt the same way.
“Really.” He twisted his fingers together and pulled them apart. “What do you think?”
“I think that’s a great idea.” I’d have to nix Howard and Mount Holyoke from my list. But if that meant I could stay with Alec—still see him every day, but with the freedom of a new state and dorms and no curfew—I believed it was worth it.
“Good,” he said, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. “That’s really good, Marv.”
We spent the rest of the afternoon going over the pros and cons of different schools, pulling up the websites to compare and contrast. Crossing off schools because they didn’t offer programs we were both interested in. Or because one of us didn’t like the weather. Or because Jessa Bailey’s brother went there and loved it and that automatically meant we should steer clear.
It was exhausting, but we got through it, and afterward, we were both satisfied with our comprehensive list. It felt good, looking at that list. Like we were on our way to becoming actual adults who could make compromises and hard decisions. We went out for burgers afterward to celebrate.
So I could have sworn I was sitting next to a different person a couple of weeks later when I looked over at his laptop and saw him plugging away at an application for a school we had explicitly decided wasn’t on the list.
“What are you doing?”
Alec finished typing a sentence before he looked at me. “Filling out this app, babe. What’s up?”
“But…that’s not on our list.”
He’d started typing again, but once he heard the tone of my voice, he stopped for good. Slid the laptop on the table and looked at me. “I know. Look, I wanted to talk to you about it—”
“When? After you got accepted?” I could hear my voice getting higher the more I talked, so I was sure Alec could, too.
“Marv…this is one of my dream schools. They have one of the best political science programs in the country. I don’t have to go if I get in.” He hesitated. “But I can’t not apply.”
“So, what was the point of the list, then?”
He sighed, putting a hand over mine. “Marv—”
But I jerked it away. Scooted my chair back so that it scraped heavily against the floor. “You know those three weeks I spent there were absolute hell, Alec. It was only a couple of months ago. I still…”
Just seeing the name of that school again made my stomach hurt. I’d gone to a precollege program there over the summer, and it was truly one of the worst experiences of my life. Just like at Salinas Prep, I was one of the only Black kids on campus. But unlike our high school, the blatant bigotry was off the charts. It’s incredible how many different ways there are to ask someone how they could have possibly gotten into this program. Or to ask if I lived in the projects. The first week, my roommate had asked point-blank if it’s true that Black people don’t wash their hair. I was ready to leave almost as soon as I’d set my bag down.
And Alec knew this. All of it. He’d listened as I vented to him over the phone, from thousands of miles away, and he’d consoled me as I broke down and cried to him on the really bad days. So it seemed like a done deal that he’d take it off his list when we’d finalized it a couple of weeks ago, before school started. The fact that he hadn’t was gross and disappointing and…it made me feel like I didn’t know him at all.
“Marv, I love you. I don’t want any of this to end next year.” His voice sounded tinny, like he was far away instead of sitting inches from me. “But I have to do this for me. Do you understand?”
“Don’t patronize me. I understand that you’re being selfish. You’re not listening to me. That place is toxic. What if you do decide to go? I wouldn’t be able to visit you. I wasn’t being hyperbolic when I said I’d never set foot in that town again, let alone the campus.”
Alec tried to touch me once more, this time on the shoulder. I flinched but didn’t shake him off. “I am listening. You know I care about how you’re treated. And I know things are different for you than they are for me…that you deal with shit I’ll never have to experience in my life. But I have to do this. Just to see if they’d even take me. I’ll never forgive myself
if I don’t.”
I raised my chin. “Then I guess Howard and Mount Holyoke go back on my list.”
“What? That’s two schools I can’t go to.”
“You don’t have to be Black to go to an HBCU.”
Alec gave me a look.
“What? It’s true. And anyway, I’m Black and a woman, so, yes. I get two schools catered to me to make up for that racist mess you can’t let go of.”
“Maybe we should talk about this another time,” he said. “When we’re not so…”
So what? Sure of what we wanted? Alec knew as well as I did that I’d never be okay with him applying there. And I knew he’d never have the nerve or desire to apply to an HBCU. The conversation was over, whether or not we wanted to admit it.
Next to me, Duke guffaws, bringing me back to the present. The backed-up traffic around us, the drumsticks resting on his lap, and his smell filling my car. Not a bad smell, but it’s just…him. A soap or deodorant I don’t know. Different from Alec.
“What are you looking at?” I ask, glad to take my mind away from my boyfriend.
“Do you know this internet cat?”
My whole body tenses. “Aren’t there, like, a million internet cats?”
“I don’t even like cats and I know this one. Her name is Eartha Kitty and she’s…Well, I don’t really know what she’s famous for. But my sister is obsessed with her and keeps sending me posts.” He shakes his head, holding out his phone. “I mean, how ridiculous is this? Who takes the time to do all these photo shoots with a cat?”
Thank god for stalled traffic because I’m pretty sure I’d crash my car otherwise, with him shoving a picture of Selma in my face.
“Totally ridiculous,” I say, plastering on a smile. And trying not to look at the number of likes the picture has amassed since I posted. “Do you have any pets?”
“Nah, my dad was allergic, and Ma isn’t really an animal person.”
“What? I thought it was, like, mandatory for white people to like dogs.”
I wait for his laugh, but when the silence stretches, I look over. He’s frowning.
“What?”
“That’s kinda low-hanging fruit.”
“Joking about white people and dogs?”
“Yeah, it’s like the same as joking about white people not seasoning their food. It’s kinda tired, you know? And weren’t you the one who didn’t want me to judge your boyfriend because he’s white?”
“Are you serious?” Now I’m frowning, too. “It was a general joke. Not like I was actually picking on your mom.”
“But you were, kinda.”
And, by extension, that means I’m picking on him, too. Half of him.
I sigh. “Fine. Sorry. But please don’t tell me Black people can be racist against white people. I’m not up for that right now.”
“O-kay, but only if you promise not to school me on power structures and the difference between prejudice and racism.”
I press my lips together, put my foot on the gas, and decide that doesn’t even warrant a response. Even if that’s exactly what I was about to do.
We drive the rest of the way to the elementary school in silence.
ALL RIGHT, MAYBE I CAME AT HER A LITTLE WRONG.
Not gonna lie, I do get kinda hot when it feels like people are talking shit about Ma. It’s like they think her being white wipes out the fact that she’s still my mom.
But I don’t really think that’s what Marva was doing, even before I said what I said. Maybe I wanted to get her back for thinking I was judging her dude because he’s white. And anyway, white, Black, whatever—what kind of dude doesn’t get how dope she is? She’s…a lot, but not in a bad way. She cares about things the way most people don’t. Or are too embarrassed to show. Which is funny, because in the non-grossest way possible, she kinda reminds me of Ma.
We roll up in front of Flores Hills Elementary.
Ma.
My heart bangs against my rib cage like it’s hitting a snare drum.
“Ready?” Marva says when she shuts off the car, her door already open.
“Not really.”
Her eyes narrow. “Don’t you dare try to tell me you’re not voting now either.”
I bust out laughing. “No, but I totally would’ve if I’d thought of it first.”
“Oh my god,” she huffs as she gets out and starts walking toward the school.
But I know I saw a flash of a smile in her eyes.
The first time I went back to my elementary after I’d moved on to middle school, I couldn’t believe how tiny it looked. Like the halls were too small and the ceilings were too low, and even the doors didn’t look wide enough for me to fit through. I didn’t go to Flores Hills Elementary, but it looks small as hell.
As we pass by the office, I see a couple of kids sitting on chairs across from the secretary’s desk. They’re so little their feet don’t even touch the floor.
Marva walks fast to the parent center. I wonder if it’s because she’s ready for me to vote so she can get the hell away from me or if she can’t wait to finish up with this so she can go drive people to the polls, like she was talking about. I tell myself it doesn’t really matter if it’s the first one. We’re not friends—just associates, like Anthony would say. Never seen her before in my life, probably won’t see her again after today.
But now that I know her…Well. I guess you could say I don’t want to un-know her.
“Duke?”
My head snaps over at the sound of my name. Man, this school really is too small.
Ms. Amster pulls me into a hug before I can say anything. Except she’s so much shorter than me that she’s hugging my waist, so I just stand there kind of patting her back like a weirdo until she lets go. I see Marva watching from the corner of my eye, but I don’t even think about looking at her.
“What are you doing here? Your mother will be so glad to see you!” Ms. Amster is the music teacher, and also my mom’s best friend here in Flores Hills. She’s cool, I guess, but she’s the last person I want to see right now.
“Uh, actually, I’m not here to talk to her,” I say, stuffing my hands in my pockets. “This is where I vote.”
Her eyes move from my face to a point behind me, then to her hands and the floor. I want to ask her what she’s looking at. Finally, she catches my eye again and says, “You’re missing school for that?”
“It’s a long story.”
Marva clears her throat. It’s small, but it digs right into my ear like a siren.
“But, uh.” I scratch my arm. “Don’t you think voting is a good reason to miss a couple of classes? It’s kind of a big day.”
Oh boy. Why’d I have to say a couple of classes? Ms. Amster eyes me in a way that I know means she’s going to run right to Ma and tell her I’m here.
“Well, I’d better get going. Good to see you, Duke,” she says before she heads toward the office. Her heels click a rhythm on the floor as she walks away. Sounds like the countdown to my inevitable lecture from Ma.
When I finally look over at Marva, she’s smiling.
The parent center looks a lot like where I tried to vote in the church, except the walls are covered by bulletin boards pinned with event announcements and lists, inspirational posters, and a whiteboard with faded scribbles. There are only four voting booths, and they’re cramped together, but there’s a small table of people with lists in front of them, just like at the church.
Man, I hope that’s the only thing that’s like the church, though. If they turn us away here, Marva might have a breakdown.
“Who was that woman you were talking to?” Marva asks as we get in line.
There aren’t a ton of people ahead of us, but there’s more than I thought there’d be. I glance at the clock on the wall. They’re in the middle of first period at FHH.
“Ms. Amster,” I mumble in case anyone in here knows her. “My mom’s friend.”
“She’s not voting,” Marva says, bringing her hand
up to examine her nails.
I stare at her, head cocked to the side. “What?”
“I can tell just by looking at someone. She’s not voting.”
“So you knew that lady at Drip Drop had already voted?” Because she damn sure didn’t look like someone who would’ve been up in the voting booth first thing in the morning. Or ever.
“Mrs. Thomas? Yeah, of course. She’s the type who votes because she doesn’t want to look bad. She doesn’t actually care about the issues, because most of them don’t affect her and her family. But heaven forbid she get judged by someone in the school drop-off line, you know? So she does the bare minimum and slaps a sticker on her chest so people will know she did the right thing.”
“Damn.” I wonder if she’s on her school’s debate team. “But how do you know about Ms. Amster? She’s always been pretty cool with me.”
“Did you see the look on her face when you said why you were here? I’ve never seen anyone more shifty-eyed! Lots of people who don’t give a shit about the state of their country are cool. But when push comes to shove—or, you know, just showing up and filling in some circles once every two years—lots of people don’t actually show up.”
I dunno. Ma is pretty militant about voting. I don’t believe she’d be all right with her best friend not doing it.
“What if she was going to vote for the people you hate?”
Marva’s lips curve into a surprised O. Has she never thought about this before?
I’m feeling pretty pleased with myself when she pulls her phone from her jacket. She frowns as she looks at the screen.
“It’s my dad.” She bites her lip for a minute, thinking, and I take that chance to look at her without getting caught. She’s pretty even when she’s frowning. And I get the feeling she frowns a lot. She has today. But not just because she’s upset—she frowns when she’s thinking hard or judging what I said or figuring out what to say next. And I don’t even know how this is possible, because I just met her, but I can tell the little difference in each one of them.
“Dad?” she says. “What’s up?”
The Voting Booth Page 5
