It Doesn't Take a Genius

by Olugbemisola Rhuday Perkovich

  The music is loud enough to promote dancing but not discourage talking.

  “What’s this playlist?” I ask Charles. “It’s really good.”

  “It’s original music, composed by campers in the electronic music program,” he says. “Kids in the DJ class curate it. A couple of kids get record deals every summer.”

  Of course they do. My good mood bubble pops. My debate wins and test scores feel very ordinary these days. “They should change the name to Camp Black Excellence,” I mutter. The other side of not being singularly special doesn’t feel that great. That nasty voice that’s been floating around in the back of my mind pushes its way forward again. You got your little trophies and certificates, but Luke’s the one getting genuine invitations to the big leagues.

  “Want to dance?” asks Natasha suddenly, and I perk up. She points to a crew forming at the edge of the dance floor. Oh. Like in a group. Michelle is waving us over. Nobody from Street Style is close by, so I can really have the spotlight and try out some of the new moves I’ve been working on after class. I start to say yes, until I glance at Charles, who has a look on his face like a character in a horror movie right before they get sliced. He’s not ready.

  “Uhhhh,” I say. “Not … right now. Maybe later, though!” We sit in awkward silence for a while, and I see Luke across the room, having what looks like an intense conversation with Charisse. I turn back to Natasha. “I … want to talk to you, actually. About filmmaking.”

  “Okay,” she says, glancing back at the dance floor. “I guess now, in the game room, with the music pumping, surrounded by kids, is the perfect time to talk about filmmaking.”

  I ignored the sarcasm. “So, I’m thinking about doing an … independent project for the Camp Showcase,” I say. “I want to make a film, but I don’t have access to equipment since I’m not in the class. I was wondering if you’d help me out … I could use someone with your expertise. I want to enter the Showcase competition, and you basically … win everything. And I really want to learn more about filmmaking.” Charles looks at me, then he shrugs and picks up a deck of mini cards and starts building something.

  “I can give you tips or something,” she says slowly, “but if you’re not in the class, you can’t use the equipment. It’s policy.” Natasha frowns. “Anyway, I thought Street Style was doing a routine. You guys always do.”

  “I am … I mean, we are … I just really wanted to get into filmmaking, and then I didn’t, but, uh, I still want to make this movie. I thought we could work together.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s the rules. And plus, I’ve got to work on my film for the Camp Showcase.”

  I come on stronger. “So, the film I want to make is about the staff at DuBois. Kind of like a short documentary to highlight how special this place is, some of the uh, staff … to help promote it and stuff.” I look down. “It probably sounds corny, but …” I look over at Charles. “Charles and I were talking about it, and …” I trail off. He gives me a that’s-news-to-me look, but he doesn’t blow things up, just shrugs again.

  She stands there looking at me for a while and the awkward quotient rises way up. Finally, she jumps in this really cute way.

  “I love it! I’ve got ideas already. We can make this work. You can be on my crew, on sound!” she says. “The sound assistant, to be specific.”

  “Sound?” What is she talking about? “I mean, we already have some ideas …”

  “Even though you can’t make a film without being in the class, people in the class are allowed to get any camper for production team roles. So if you’re on my crew, you’d still get some of the experience of being in the class. And I’d get a sound guy, which I haven’t picked yet. Derek was going to—”

  “Derek?” I frown. “He’s on your crew?”

  “Well, he asked, but—”

  “I’ll do it,” I say. I don’t care if it’s the most boring-sounding job around. If it means taking something away from Derek, then I’m in.

  “Oh, wait—I know you’ve got your own stuff to work on … Are you going to try for a solo dance award? Everyone says you’re like one of the best dancers here, Triple M is sure to pick you.”

  “One of?” I say, but I laugh to make sure she knows I’m joking. I wave my hand and try to add a little extra bass to my voice like I’ve seen Luke do. “I can handle it. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. I’m the king of multitasking.”

  “Are you sure?” she asks, and the way she kind of sings her words is so cute.

  I nod so hard my head almost snaps off. Then I do a thumbs-up before I can stop myself. Luke would not thumbs-up. It’s like an anti-mack move.

  “Thank you!” she says. “And I can help you with your project, it’s a great idea. It has a lot of promise, it just needs some planning. Maybe we can sit down and I’ll show you how I outlined my film, and you can show me what your plan is,” she goes on, sounding like an adult, or I guess just like a girl. “I’ve been doing this for a while, so I can help refine it. You’ll officially be the producer, and I’ll be the director—but I really believe in working as a team.”

  I guess my feelings show, because Natasha sighs. “I know it’s not what you asked, but it’s what I can offer. I could use the help, and I think your idea is great, but you’re gonna need help too. I just need to know you’re going to really pitch in. Everyone has to do their part for these films to get completed. The camp session goes by fast.”

  “Aye, aye, Queen,” I say, saluting her. She rolls her eyes.

  “It’ll be fun, I promise,” she says.

  “Especially if someone lets me use their camera …” I do my puppy dog eyes. Maybe she won’t be able to resist this time.

  “Ugh, that face is really not as cute as you think it is,” she says, screwing up her nose in her own very cute way. “Never do that again. And I will never say yes to breaking the sacred rules of DuBois.”

  “Say yes to what?” asks Michelle, coming over. “If my girl is in, then so am I, whatever it is!”

  “Me too,” says Charles. I’d forgotten he was here. We look over, and my eyes bug out. He’s built a replica of the main office building, out of cards, in like five minutes.

  “E has an extracurricular idea,” says Natasha.

  She called me E!

  “It was Charles and me,” I say quickly. And I’m glad I do, because he smiles and nods.

  “Ooh, a side hustle,” says Michelle. “That’s what I like to hear. You know Amy Ashwood Garvey produced musical comedies? She may have been a revolutionary powerhouse, but she also had jokes.”

  I don’t know what’s more hilarious, the fact that Michelle just offered that little tidbit, or the sappy expression on Charles’s face when she said it.

  “Yeah, exactly!” I say. I wasn’t going to turn away an ally, even if I had no idea what she was talking about. “Yes to having some fun together.” Okay! I’m making my own magic happen. Superhero status, here I come!

  We find a big puffy couch and pile on. We start throwing all kinds of questions at Natasha, and we’re laughing and joking and even trying trick questions, but she’s on it and doesn’t fall for anything.

  I clear my throat. “Okay, I’m sure I’ll sound stupid, but, since we’re obviously going to be talking about it a lot … Michelle, who exactly are the two Amys? Like in real life?”

  And Michelle is so happy to talk about them (again) she doesn’t make me feel stupid. She tells me all about Marcus Garvey and his movement to make Black people feel good about their Blackness.

  “He was originally from Jamaica,” she says.

  “Me too!” I say, then I stop. “I mean, my grandfather was. I’m not really.”

  “Of course you are,” says Charles. “I’m from Senegal—well, my grandmother is, and every June twentieth, we have thiéboudienne. I’ve got a big flag on my wall at home.”

  “My dad did a DNA test and he says we’re Nigerian,” says Natasha. “I claim it. Wizkid, Yemi Alade, Burna Boy all u
p in my playlists.”

  “You guys don’t feel like you’re … fake or anything?” I ask. “This girl at my school said I should be proud to be an American.”

  Michelle rolls her eyes. “It’s like what Charisse was saying today. We have every right to claim all the parts of the African diaspora that we’re connected to. We’re all-in-one, and the fact that we have multiple sets of roots is a sign of our strength. I’m gonna claim it all and celebrate it.”

  “And Black to the Future is giving us a chance to learn more,” says Natasha. “Keeps us from being fraudulent if we want to do the work.”

  “I don’t remember Charisse saying that,” I say to Michelle. Maybe I’m still not keeping up. I have a lot of doing the work to do. And it’s not like there’s a trophy or a grade at the end.

  “Well, she didn’t say that exactly,” says Michelle. “But that’s how I interpreted it in my notes.” When we all look at her, she holds up her hands. “What? I’m a writer!”

  While we’re laughing, I glance over to where Luke is still talking across the room, looking serious, and suddenly I remember another time I laughed like this, and he was laughing too. Pops into my head, vivid and clear, like HDTV. It was when we were at the fair with Dad. I can’t catch Luke’s eye, so I keep talking and joking with my friends until the lump in my throat shrinks back down to normal. When he finally sees me, he smiles and waves; he never knew the lump was there, so I just smile and wave back.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Nothing’s how I thought it would be,” I say to Michelle as I spoon cookie dough onto the baking sheet. “This is not how I am at home.” When I’d arrived at the first Great DuBois Baking Show class, I’d been glad to see a familiar face, even if that familiar face had greeted me with “Are you taking this class because you think it will impress girls? Because I’m not impressed.” Still, we make a good team, and being Michelle’s partner gives me opportunities to gather intel for Charles. I sneak a bit of dough into my mouth.

  “This isn’t home,” she says. “And—Hey, I saw that!” she yells, pulling our bowl out of reach before I can take more.

  “Come on, they make cookie dough ice cream for a reason,” I say.

  “This is not the same thing,” she says. “Anyway, make sure those spoonfuls are equal sizes. Yolande and Margaret are the judges today, and Yolande’s still mad that he didn’t get the part of Marcus Garvey in my show. Our cookies are going to have to be perfect.”

  “Exactly,” I say. “Everything has to be perfect here. Everything is perfect. Except me.” Michelle puts a tray of our toffee rocky road surprise cookies into the oven. The surprise part was pretzel bits. I hadn’t imagined how much I’d enjoy baking, all aspects of it—the measuring, the mixing … it’s like chemistry but with a bonus result.

  “Nine minutes, start your timer,” she mutters. We start cleaning up our area, because the judges look at that too. Apparently too much mess can result in getting the boot from the class and put on bathroom cleaning duty instead. Our baking class is modeled after this British show—our teacher even talks with a British accent. We get a new challenge every day, and class members take turns judging the rest of us on flavor, texture, and presentation. I’d made a slideshow of my bakes so far and shared it with Luke, but I can see that he hasn’t opened the file yet. I’d thought about sharing it with Mom, but I want this whole baking thing to be a surprise. I’m thinking that after she passes her medical school test, I’ll just casually bake her a celebration cake, like BAM! I’ll decorate it too. Luke isn’t the only one with art skills.

  “You’re in Street Style, right?” Michelle asks. “How’s it going? Triple M is no joke.”

  “Pretty good,” I say. It’s really hard, but it’s fun. For the last few days I’ve tried to be extra helpful, demonstrating steps whenever I can, cheering other people on. “Triple M almost smiled at me once, I think,” I say.

  “That’s a big deal,” says Michelle. “You must have skills.”

  I shrug, but then I do a little spin, forgetting that I’m holding a spoon full of cookie dough. Oops. The junior counselor who’s monitoring our oven use rolls his eyes.

  “I keep telling Natasha that Black Girl Magic is gonna be amazing, but she is so stressed out about coming up with the perfect film,” says Michelle. “I know she’s trying to do something different this year, but she’s built this rep as the film queen, and with her mom being a big time filmmaker and all …” She shrugs. “You know how it is.”

  Not really. “I wish I did. I wanted to take that class. My brother and I had an idea about doing a film festival together, but he’s been so busy …” I trail off. “It would have been perfect.”

  “Well, there’s something I think you’re perfect for,” says Michelle.

  “I keep telling you that I’m not going to play Booker T. Washington,” I say. “I can’t make rehearsals anyway, they’re at the same time as badminton.”

  “We can work something out. That’s what free periods are for.”

  “I thought free periods were for being chill.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, we have no chill around here. Everyone wants to shine. And luckily for you, I’m giving you an opportunity. The ideal role. You’ve got grit, determination. I think you’d make the perfect Booker T.”

  “I’m a debater, not an actor. Debate champion,” I add.

  “Whatever,” she waves her hand. “Debate champions are a dime a dozen. And today’s debate is not exactly about arguing a well-researched point, is it? It’s just like … talking fast. And performing. Which brings me back to why you’d make a great Booker T.”

  “Thanks, I guess,” I say. “But wasn’t he kind of a sellout?”

  She waves her hand. “It’s complicated. Like you—you’re complex!”

  I have to laugh. “You don’t stop, do you? That really makes me feel good. But I’m not interested. Maybe I can help behind the scenes or something.”

  “You already did, you know—both Amys loved the steps that you—HEYYYYYYY!” She stops herself and grabs my shoulders, getting flour all over my shirt.

  Kojo, our teacher, walks over. “Are you two having a problem?” He draws out the word problem to at least three syllables. I shake my head.

  “No,” Michelle says. “Also, Kojo, I was wondering if we could talk. I know you’re from Ghana, and I’m thinking that next summer, I’d like to do a play about an American girl trying to find her roots there.”

  “How original,” says Kojo. “But … we’ll talk. For now, focus.”

  “Nice distraction technique,” I say after he leaves, trying to clean myself off. “What did you get all hype about?”

  “Behind the scenes … how about being my choreographer?”

  Before I came here, my dancing was mostly fooling around, and to be honest, showing off. At DuBois, it’s work. Still fun but … “Well …”

  “Come on, it’ll be fun! We are an excellent team! It’s so much better when you work with people who are actually part of your crew.”

  It does sound like fun, and kind of important. And she called me part of the crew! Then I remember that I’m also supposed to help Natasha. “I don’t know if I’ll have a whole lot of time …”

  “It’ll just take a couple of free periods. You can practically do it in your sleep.”

  That makes no sense, but … it is another chance to shine like the old Emmett. The real one. “You did just save us from toilet duty, so … I can try,” I say. Dance is my thing. I got this. Maybe just pull some things from what we’re doing in Street Style.

  “Thank you! And can you ask your brother if he thought some of his students would be interested in painting the sets?” she asks. “Make it a family affair.”

  “Sure, if I can get him to spend two minutes with me,” I say. I open the oven to check our cookies. They’re ready to come out, and I place them gently on the rack next to our station.

  “Okay, it’s clear you’re feeling some type of
way right now,” she says. “Need a listening ear while we prep for the classic recipe challenge? What is it, by the way?”

  I look at the screen in front of the kitchen. The next recipe is up. “Ugh, snickerdoodles. Does classic always have to mean ‘bland’?”

  Michelle laughs. “I guess it depends on your point of view. Which is kind of deep, when you think about it, it could even be an analogy for the stuff we were talking about in Black to the Future yesterday. About who decides what’s classic.”

  “We’re talking about cookies, Michelle,” I say, laughing as I take out new bowls and utensils. “But if that offer to listen still stands … I thought Luke and I would be spending a lot more time together here. He acts like he’s not leaving for boarding school at the end of the summer.”

  “Isn’t he working?” asks Michelle. “Those junior counselor positions are coveted gigs.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “He did a lot to get this job.”

  “Nice,” she said, beating the eggs like they had done something to her. “So instead of being a big baby about your big brother, why don’t you find something to keep you busy too?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask. “And thanks for all the sympathy, by the way.”