It Doesn't Take a Genius

by Olugbemisola Rhuday Perkovich

  “So we’re gonna share the wealth, right? Redistribute resources?” asks Charisse.

  A few less yesses, a lot of ums, and Bernard, who tells anyone who will listen (which is no one) that he started the first Black Republicans club at his school, says, “Aww, no, my parents are really gonna freak if this turns into some socialist thing.”

  We’re just kind of looking at Charisse now, even Gordon has that I-don’t-know-where-you’re-going-with-this look. He glances at Dr. Triphammer, who is in the back of the room, probably making sure that we don’t have a secret Styrofoam party or something.

  “I’m asking, what are we going to do with what we got? What we all get by being here?” she asks, looking around the room.

  “I’m gonna keep getting mines!” yells out a voice, and we laugh.

  “Get ours,” says Natasha. “Help our communities.”

  “So,” says Charisse, walking over to where Natasha is sitting, which is too far away from me, “you think you have a lot to offer? You think you can do a lot to help?”

  “Well …” Natasha frowns. “I mean, yeah, I do.”

  “What about you? What help do you need?”

  “I …” Natasha looks around.

  “My girl needs no help, she’s the epitome of Black girl magic, she’s flawless,” yells out Michelle.

  “Don’t throw around words meant only for Beyoncé,” says Hannah. “You don’t know who’s in the Beyhive. Act up, get snatched up!”

  A few people start some low buzzing, but Gordon shushes them.

  “I mean, shouldn’t we try to do whatever we can to help our brothers and sisters who have … who are … disadvantaged?” says Natasha carefully. “Isn’t that why we’re here?”

  “Doing, like, actual work instead of having fun?” adds Hannah. “I’m about to see if I can get community service credits for this summer for real.”

  Charisse smiles a little before she goes in. “The problem is … thinking of your own people as a problem, or a burden. Thinking that because you have more, you are more—”

  Natasha starts to interrupt, but Charisse holds up a hand. “I’m not saying this to any one person here, or trying to make anyone feel guilty”—Gordon turns a snort into a very fake cough—“I just want you to think about these things. It can be very easy to think hierarchically, even when”—she looks at Dr. Triphammer—“there’s no hierarchy, just community.”

  Gordon nods. “Let that marinate before you start talking,” he says as a whole bunch of hands shoot up. We sit in silence for a minute.

  Hannah is the first to talk. “I got you,” she says. “It’s like when the older kids at my school take those trips to help the needy in the third world”—she makes a face—“and they think poor people just need to be filled up with their free time and wack good intentions.” Her eyes widen. “Ooh, have y’all ever seen that old movie Cruel Intentions? Talk about sick …”

  Charisse claps. “Focus, Hannah, because you’re making an important point. Thank you! You keep asking why we’re doing this, but then you demonstrate exactly how important and good this is!”

  Hannah crosses her hands behind her head and leans back.

  “I get that,” Natasha says slowly. “Like, if we think we’re always rescuing people in need …”

  “Then it’s another form of enslavement,” says Michelle. “Of the mind.”

  “Isn’t it good to help people, though?” I ask. “I mean, you learn that from the minute you’re born.”

  Charisse turns and writes a quote on the board:

  “If you have come here to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.”

  “Y’all know how much I love quotes,” she says. “That’s one that’s usually attributed to the artist and educator Lilla Watson—look her up. Google is your friend,” she says to Hannah’s raised hand. “But she herself says they’re the words of many Indigenous activists who came before her. So I want you guys to talk about that and some of the phrases that I’ll write on the board. As usual, counselors will mingle and join in, ask questions …”

  “But you all take the lead,” finishes Gordon. Even though we’re supposed to mix it up, we’ve all kind of made little permanent groups by now. Charles, Michelle, Troy, and Natasha are in mine. Derek and his buddy Ade look like they’re going to hang with us for some reason, but after a bunch of kids make a beeline for Luke’s group, Luke calls Derek over. It makes me glad when I see Derek look over at Natasha before he leaves, but I still get a twinge because Luke is turning to the enemy for help. I’m looking for a win, but it seems like I have to be satisfied with a draw.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Triple M choreographed this eighties breakdancing routine for us to do at the Camp Showcase, and I have one of three solos! I’ve never danced so hard in my life. Soloists have to stay after class, so I’m a little late to my first meeting with Natasha’s group. I’d planned to read those notes she gave me during lunch, but I had to meet with The Two Amys cast instead. I want to impress her so bad, and it looks like I’ll be winging it.

  There are ten people on her crew, and she goes around and shakes everyone’s hand, like a politician or something. It makes me nervous, and when she gets to me, I salute as a joke and she rolls her eyes. I’m off my game, and I feel like it shows.

  “Please stop with the salutes. I’m really not here for that,” she says. She moves to the front of the small multipurpose room that she’d reserved for our meeting. “Okay, so everyone is assigned a specific role … we’re going to go over that now, then I’ll tell you guys what I was thinking for the film. I changed the name, I’m calling it Representing and Responsibility.”

  A few kids nod, but most people look as blank as I feel, which makes me glad.

  A girl with round glasses and curly hair raises her hand. “What’s the relevance of that title?”

  “Hey, Vanessa, good question,” answers Natasha. “I got inspired by Black to the Future. Remember that time when Gordon said W. E. B. DuBois believed in a whole ‘talented tenth’ of Black people?”

  “You mean the cream of the crop high achievers like us … well, most of us,” answers Vanessa, looking around like she’s trying to catch someone out of the Black excellence zone.

  “Uh … anyway,” continues Natasha, “At first I thought that was cool, and, like, we’re all part of it.” She waves around the room, and Derek nods like she’s only talking to him. Jerk. “But there’s also a lot of pressure. Like how everything we do has to be heavy, or how it’s like we’re representing all Black people at every moment in our lives.”

  “That’s deep,” says Derek. “Like how when people say Black excellence, it feels good, but …”

  “But it’s also scary,” says Vanessa, nodding. “I like this idea. Also a good strategy for college apps.” She makes some notes.

  “Aren’t you in ninth grade?” asks another girl.

  “Yep,” Vanessa says. “Your question is?”

  Natasha goes on. “So anyway, I kept thinking about it and started wondering if that talented tenth idea is kind of elitist, like only some people are important enough to contribute to the community. Ten percent? I mean, come on.” More people are nodding. “And I think it would be interesting to explore the idea that we all have something to give, but we also have to think about giving too much.”

  She is so smart. Like not just regular-debate-team-honor-roll smart, but the kind of smart that makes me feel like I should be doing better.

  “Yo, you sound like you’ve been talking to Charisse,” I say, smiling.

  “I have,” she says, not smiling back. “She helped me put my plan together. I’m trying to win on Camp Showcase night, and I hope y’all are with me.”

  I hold up my hands. “Excuse me, Queen Bee,” I say, trying to lighten the mood a bit. I’m also realizing that I’m going to have to step it up if I want to win.

  Natasha steps
forward. “We need to get going. Any questions?”

  A few people in the group clap, and Natasha waves them off. I could hug her right now. Okay, I could hug her any time.

  “Let’s do this!” I say loudly, pumping my fist and trying to add bass to my voice. “Who’s in?”

  Everyone looks at me.

  “Why are you trying to take over?” asks Derek. “Tasha’s got it under control, so you can chill.”

  “Um, thanks, E,” says Natasha, looking down at her iPad.

  “Skylan.” She points to a tall kid with glasses on. “You’re going to be DP—director of photography. Vanessa, you’re an assistant producer.” She goes down the list until she gets to me. “Emmett, you’re boom operator.”

  Ooh, she moved me up from sound assistant! Is that special effects, like explosions and stuff? “That sounds cool,” I say, adding some swag to the bass. “Better than sound assistant, no disrespect to the sound assistant, of course. What exactly does that mean?”

  A few people giggle.

  “Sound assistant,” she says drily, and I don’t know why she bothers to hold back her smile, because the whole group busts out laughing. “You’ll have the mic, record audio, and make sure our sound is on point.”

  Well, that sounds tedious. “Are you sure you don’t mean assistant director?” I ask.

  “That would be me,” says a girl, smirking.

  Vanessa laughs really loudly.

  Great. I look like a complete clown in front of the girl I want to impress. What else can go wrong?

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Yo, this boom mic is GINORMOUS. If anyone is completely not right for the part of GIANT MICROPHONE CARRIER, it’s me. I try to look taller and stronger.

  “Whoa, looks like you need a hand,” says a boy who’s a production assistant, which seems to be a euphemism for “do all the things.” “I don’t think you’ll be able to stand on your tippy toes like that all day.”

  “I got it,” I say, trying to look as though I do. “But thanks.” Chill with the “tippy toes,” though.

  The first person Natasha wants to interview is the camp nurse. In Black to The Future, a lot of people talked about how their parents say they have to “be twice as good to get half as much” as white people, so Natasha is hitting up the nurse’s office to talk pressure and stress in the Black community. Vanessa adds that we should at least do a special spotlight on Black girls and women and the whole idea of Black girl magic, and the other girls agree. Natasha says that’s a good idea and Vanessa acts like she just won camp. We trek over to the medical center, where it takes forever for Natasha to explain everything to the nurse, then for the nurse to decide her hair’s right, then it takes forever to set up the shot. Then there is a lot of walking around and talking and shushing. I guess I’d imagined filmmaking to be … more like movies themselves? Exciting, artsy … interesting. This is kind of … boring.

  Finally it’s my turn to get in position with the boom. I get up on a chair a few feet away from Nurse Denene and hold the fishing pole thing that’s holding the mic as high above my head as possible. Which isn’t high enough, apparently, because everyone keeps shouting at me to MOVE BACK, MOVE BACK, and the director of photography, who seemed a little extra if you ask me, kept huffing and muttering about “remedial workshops for newbies” in one of those loud whispers that everyone can hear, and Natasha is telling everyone to be quiet. I can see Derek smirking out of the corner of my eye. I lean as far back as possible and—

  “Well,” says a voice. “It’s a good thing we were already in the nurse’s office.”

  “Very funny,” says Natasha. “Emmett, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, trying to stand up. “I’m sorry, I guess I … dropped the mic.”

  More than a couple of people snicker. I didn’t even mean it like that, but I play it off and take a bow. What else can I do after falling off a chair like I’m practicing to be a clown?

  “Very funny. Listen, I’m sorry, I should have considered your size when I gave you that job,” says Natasha.

  You think? And also, do we have to talk about that now? I rub my head, and Nurse Denene frowns.

  “I’ll help you from now on,” says Production Assistant Kid (whose name is Fred—even though he’s annoying, we’re brothers in the old timey name department) in an extra helpful way that is not helpful at all. He makes a big show of picking up the mic. “Maybe I should be solely assigned to Emmett, Natasha? I can be assistant to the sound assistant. Or I can be on mic duty alone. Emmett can have my job. It’s demanding, of course, and takes some physical, er, prowess.” He jogs and boxes in place, which is totally unnecessary, especially considering the fact that he’s also six inches taller than me, so yeah, I get it. Ready Freddy looks up to the job.

  “I’m fine, I got this,” I say, standing up for real this time. “I’m just not used to it, but I’m a quick study.” Everyone stands around looking skeptical, and I grab the equipment from Production Assistant Kid. “Thanks again.” I look around. “So are we interviewing the nurse or what? Let’s get this show on the road!”

  So Natasha explains the project AGAIN while Nurse Denene makes me sit and rest and drink water, which makes an even bigger deal out of a minor accident than is necessary. Then Nurse Denene checks and rechecks about seven hundred times to make sure I’m okay—at one point I seriously expect her to give me a lollipop or something, she’s being so extra—but this girl Fatou whispers that her mom is a lawyer and can lawsuit my fall into college tuition if I want her to, so maybe that’s why the nurse is doing way too much right now.

  We finally get everything set up … aaand about thirty seconds after Natasha says, “Roll sound!” the end-of-period bell starts clanging. And it so happens that the medical center is right next to the bell tower, so even Natasha’s thirty seconds of intro is messed up. Perfect. Every time I think I’ve created an opportunity to shine, I … splat instead. As we walk out, there’s grumbling about already being behind; I hear one person mutter something about “wasting time because that little—” and I hustle out the door so that I won’t have to hear the rest.

  “I heard you’re a street style king,” says Vanessa, pulling up to next to me. “Maybe you should stick to that. I’m here to be on a winning team. Usually that’s Natasha’s team. You’re not just new, you act brand-new, and ain’t nobody got time for that.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “Hi, hi, honeybee,” says Mom. She’s standing way too close to the screen, so I can’t see her whole face. “I can’t believe I’ll be hugging you in person in a week!”

  “Mom, move back,” I say. “I can’t talk long, I gotta get to my next class.”

  “Oh, excuuuuse me,” she says. “I guess things are going well, then?”

  I shrug. “Whatever. It’s cool.” I should tell her about Street Style and ceramics, and Charles and Michelle, but I don’t. I’m still embarrassed—Derek is stealing my brother and now my girl. There’s a little mean ball in the pit of my stomach, and I want it to stay. I want to be angry. I don’t know how I could have been smiling a few minutes ago. What was I thinking? Natasha’s film is going to be amazing. Charles has been composing his heart out, and I’m sure his concert will be great. Michelle will probably end up taking The Two Amys to Broadway or something. And then there’s me. My brother’s a star, my friends are all stars, and I’ve flamed out before I’ve even gotten started. I don’t have my dance together. Everybody knows where they’re going, what they’re doing. I’m not even sure who I am anymore.

  “Come on, it’s got to be more than just—” She imitates my shrug. “‘It’s cool.’ It’s such a great opportunity for you! What have you been eating? How’s your roommate?”

  “How’s studying?” I ask. “It must be nice, all that quiet, no worrying about us.”

  “Oh, you’re in a mood,” she says. “What’s up? Isn’t all that sunshine and green making you happy? That amazing food? The fact that you’re on an e
xtended vacation that you arranged for yourself behind my back?” She laughs, but I don’t.

  “Talk to me, buddy,” she says.

  “Why do you guys always think I don’t have problems? I’m not some little kid just playing all day!” I yell, surprising myself. After a few seconds of silence, Marcus knocks. I still don’t understand what he does all day between knocks.

  “You okay in there, Emmett?” he asks.

  “Yeah, sorry,” I call out. “Just talking to my mom. I’m getting ready for swimming, I’ll be out soon.”

  “Cool, cool,” he says, and I hear him leave, probably to try to mack on another counselor.

  Mom is just looking at me, waiting.

  “Sorry for yelling,” I say. “I think I’m just … tired.”

  “Have you talked to Luke about how you’re feeling?” she asks. “I know he’s got a lot going on with his job and all, but maybe he can give you some advice.”

  Yeah, right. “Mmmmm,” I say. “I don’t think he has time.”

  “He’s your brother,” Mom says. “If you need him, he’ll be there for you.”

  “Mom, what happened when Dad got depressed?”

  She gets close to the screen again. “What do you mean? Why would you ask that? Are you depressed?”

  “Mom! Calm down! I just … was wondering.” I grab my towel. “I gotta go to swimming. I’m actually doing pretty good in that area,” I say.

  “Emmett—”

  “Mom, I gotta go,” I lower my voice. “I love you.” And I do a quick kissy face and hang up before she can say anything else. I’m tired of talking, and opportunities, and questions without answers. Maybe now she’ll worry about me a little bit.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Guys, we’re moving to the big pool,” announces Brant.

  “YAY!!!” cheers my group. Well, except Lance and me. I can’t shake off that conversation with Mom. I don’t know what Lance’s deal is, but I’m thinking that the only thing worse than flailing around with floaties in the baby pool is flailing around with floaties in the big pool where everyone can see me.