It Doesn't Take a Genius

by Olugbemisola Rhuday Perkovich

  “Performing Blackness,” says Charisse. “Let’s dig in. How do you feel about it?”

  “I mean, I take it as a compliment,” says a kid who goes by N. T. “Everybody wants to be cool like us.”

  “Yeah,” says Luke, “but no one wants to be us, right?” This time he gets applause. I join in too, keeping my hands low because I’m still mad.

  “Or even be around us,” adds Troy. “Like, I live in New York City—”

  “WE KNOW!” yell a bunch of people. He does bring it up a lot.

  “And anyway,” he continues, “all the schools in my neighborhood are like a hundred and ten percent Black people, with a few Dominicans in the mix. But there are a lot of white kids who live in the neighborhood now, except they all go to other schools. I’m cool with some of them, but there’s still this line. It’s like we live in an invisible, separate world or something.”

  “So, does anyone get a pass?” asks Charisse. “Do we all have that non-Black friend who’s ‘down’ or ‘cool’? Is there a series of tests that has to be passed?”

  “Knowledge of Hip-Hop one oh one!” someone yells out.

  “Being able to clap on the two and four!”

  “Not crying when you get called out!”

  “Knowing there’s no such thing as reverse racism,” says Luke. “Being anti-racist instead of just not-racist.” Standing O for my brother.

  “But for why,” yells out Hannah, “Why do we have to talk about being Black? Why can’t we just be Black?”

  “Why not both?” I say without thinking, and to my surprise, I get some claps. I clear my throat. “I mean, maybe you guys are more used to this, but it’s been … interesting in a good way, having these discussions. I’m thinking about myself more than I ever have before.”

  “That doesn’t seem possible,” says Luke, and the laughs are a little louder than I’d like.

  “I mean,” I say, “about my … Blackness. And how much I can just love it. How all of us can. Maybe some of us don’t realize that yet, or … just need reminders.”

  “On that note,” says Gordon,” we’ll stop there. Now I know this is camp, so you’re not really trying to do a whole lot of homework but …”

  Loud groans.

  “Too late,” calls out Hannah. “All y’all had us doing presentations and reports like it’s summer school, not summer camp.”

  The boy who always asks if there’s going to be a test raises his hand. I think his name is Malcolm. “Maybe we should get grades,” he starts, but he’s drowned out by boos.

  Gordon shushes us. “This is optional. We want you to write a letter to yourself at … ten years old. A point before you realized how complex issues of race are.”

  “What would you tell yourself to help you get through now?” adds Charisse. “What advice would you give? How would you want you to be, to walk in the world?”

  “Does it have to be written?” asks Natasha. “What about other forms of media and expression?”

  “Oooooh!” says Charisse, jumping up. “That gives me an idea!” She gets in a quick huddle with Gordon, then she announces, “Pending a conversation with Dr. Triphammer, we will have a Black to the Future group presentation on showcase night! We know it’s only a couple of days from now, so don’t worry about doing anything elaborate, and you can use any media or creative form of expression for this project. It’s really about just sharing what’s been important to you.” There’s an excited buzz, and I see Derek run up to Luke; he looks like he’s asking him a question.

  Maybe-Malcolm raises his hand again. “Since it’s not school, I know we can’t get grades. Are there going to be prizes or anything?”

  Gordon and Charisse just look at him, and then they both say “Boy, bye,” at the same time, and we all laugh.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Sometimes, it’s hard to figure out what we would like to do. Try to write down all the things you like to do for fun. Do you like to write stories? Draw? Do you like to talk? Make things? Read? Make a list. Now think about the things that you DON’T like to do. Maybe you don’t like them because they seem hard, or “everybody else” doesn’t like them either. Maybe you just need a little help, or you need to find someone who likes doing those things, too. Remember, it’s okay to like things other people may not like. It doesn’t make you weird or strange, it just means that you are a special individual.

  I toss Shiny Suit Man’s workbook to the floor, and finish getting ready to meet Charles for breakfast. I don’t even know why I’m reading it; only a few days of camp left and I’m not any different than I was when I got here. Hmmm …. DuBois has given me choreographer goals that I never knew I had. And friends like Charles and Michelle that I’ve never actually had. I love hanging out and joking around with WeeDee and Billy, but this … is different. More. Yes, I’m a special individual, Shiny Suit Man, but it feels good not to be the One, the Black One, and something even more special happens when we’re together.

  I like to dance.

  I like to make up dances

  I like teaching people the dances I make up Despite our inauspicious start, I like Charles (and I’m using words like “inauspicious” so I guess he’s rubbing off on me).

  I like movies.

  I like Michelle.

  I like Natasha. A lot.

  I like Flamin’ Peppa Cheese Puffies on top of vanilla ice cream a lot too.

  Even though I didn’t mean to get Mom and Luke all upset, I like being reminded that my brother is there for me because deep down I still know I’m on kind of shaky ground when he’s not.

  I guess it’s a start.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Dr. Triphammer stops me as I’m bussing my breakfast tray. “Your name again, young man? A member of the Young Lions, right?”

  He remembers. “Uh, I’m Emmett … Emmett Charles.”

  “Right,” he says. “You’re taking another swim test today, I hear.”

  I swallow and nod. I’ve been trying not to think about it all morning, which means I’ve been thinking about it all morning.

  “Good luck.” I’m pretty sure that by good luck he means “don’t mess it up,” and I can also tell that instead of mess he’s really thinking a different word, one that Mom would freak if she heard me say.

  “Thanks, sir. I need it.”

  “You know”—he pats my on the shoulder—“you’ve already had good luck when it comes to DuBois. That’s how you got here!”

  “Huh?”

  “I remembered your name … Emmett Charles. You were one of the people who applied right before the summer program started.”

  “That’s right, I was … so excited to hear about my brother Luke’s opportunity, I, um … threw myself into applying. Thanks so much for your consideration.”

  “Oh, it was actually no trouble at all. That’s what I mean,” he says. “We had so many applications for that last-minute opening that we decided to do a lottery, and your name was picked out of a hat. And then you turned out to be the younger brother of one of my most promising hires! I call that some good fortune all around!” He laughs.

  Wait, so I didn’t really get in? All this time I’ve been thinking that my insecurities were all in my head, but … maybe I really don’t belong? “I … um …” I can’t get anything out. I pick up a stray orange that’s been left on a tray.

  “So,” he says, “take advantage of the opportunity.” He leans down and puts his face pretty close to mine. I think he had a spinach omelet for breakfast. “At DuBois we swim. Show UP! Show OUT!” He stands up straight and smiles again. “Good luck with that test!” He walks away, and it’s a full minute before a thin trickle of wetness in my palm makes me realize that I’m still holding the orange, and I’ve squeezed it open like a burst, soggy, balloon.

  ***

  “You know you got this, right?” says Brant as Charles and I walk up to the pool. “You’ve got the skills, you just gotta get outside of your own head, get over the anxiety.”
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  I’d sent Luke a text this morning and a reminder a little while ago.

  “It’s not that,” I say quickly. “It’s … complicated.”

  Brant looks at his watch. “We gotta get going. I have a group coming in ten minutes. Trianna and Robert are re-testing too. Hit the shower.”

  Charles walks over to the locker room with me, trying to make me laugh with some dance moves. “Are you okay?” he asks. “You look a little sick. What did you have for breakfast?”

  Shattered illusions. “I’m fine,” I say. “Just want to get this over with.”

  I see Michelle, Natasha, Troy, and Hannah standing by the pool now. They all wave, and I lift a quick hand in return. I have an audience, but not the one I need. “Luke is supposed to be here,” I say, looking around. “Can you keep a lookout for him?”

  Charles nods. “Should I keep dancing? You know, for the ladies?” We both laugh.

  “Yeah, I think we’re all good,” I say. “And … thanks. My, um, dad was going to teach me to swim … and then he died.”

  “I’m sorry,” Charles says. I know that’s about all he can say, but still.

  I’m angry all of a sudden. “Yeah, me too.” I fake a smile. “So, Luke has always been like, dadly in a way … he’s always there for me. He was gonna teach me this summer, but now …” I shrug.

  “Now, you got this! You can beat your brother in a swim race during the next free period!” Charles says. After a pause, he adds. “I bet your dad would be proud of you.”

  “I guess,” I say. “I haven’t passed yet.” I go in and take the mandatory quick freezing cold shower. When I get back outside, Charles shakes his head.

  “Haven’t seen him.” he says. Since I left my phone in the locker room, I use Charles’s to text Luke again. “Do you want me to stay?” Charles asks. “I have chamber ensemble, but I can cut. We’ve been working on the same four measures for the last five days.”

  I give him a fist bump. “Nah, it’s fine. You go ahead. I’ll ask Brant if I can go last. Luke should be here by the time I get in the water.” Charles gives me another fist bump, then jogs off.

  I walk slowly over to Brant, who gives me a funny look. “You okay, Emmett? You were gone for a while.”

  “Have you seen Luke?” I ask.

  “Your brother? He’s probably with his group,” says Brant. “Why? Something wrong? You want me to get Marcus?”

  “No, it’s just that Luke was supposed to meet me here. For my test. Not that it’s a big deal, it’s just like … a tradition. Not that I’ve taken a lot of swim tests before, because I haven’t, but …” I trail off.

  Brant shrugs. “We need to get started. He looks at his waterproof watch, which had looked so cool to me on the first day, like something Aquaman would wear. But right now, even though it’s digital, I think I can hear it ticking, and it’s like: COUNTDOWN TO YOUR DOOM, EMMETT.

  Do I even hear an echo? I look over to where Natasha and the others are standing. Charles is back! I can’t believe he’s cutting his class for this.

  “Can I go last?” I ask, pointing to Trianna and Robert. They’re both in the youngest camper group and not even novices. Just re-testing so that they can move up a level and flex on people like me. Like those people who do the extra credit so they can have a score over a hundred. I know that move. I’ve been those people.

  Brant sighs. “Sure, Emmett. But it’s only going to be a few minutes. So be ready.”

  It’s like I literally blink, and then it’s my turn. Luke is not here. The Isle looks a million miles away. I walk to the edge of the big pool, take a deep breath, and then lower myself in.

  ***

  The bell rings as I’m climbing out of the pool. Brant squats down. “It’s in your head, bro. I’m sorry. You can sign up for the test all the way up until it’s time to go home, okay? Four more days …” He pats me on the shoulder and lifts me the rest of the way out of the water.

  I don’t say anything, I don’t even grab my towel. I just run toward the art shack. I can’t believe it. This is all Luke’s fault. My brother let me down for real.

  ***

  Luke isn’t at the art shack, so I try his dorm. I’m out of breath and still dripping wet when I bang on his door.

  “Bro, chill,” says a counselor named Tommy. He frowns. “Can I help you with something?”

  “Have you seen Luke Charles?”

  “Not since this morning when he took his group on a mini hike,” says Tommy. “He’s a busy guy. You want to leave him a message?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Tell him his brother needed him. If that matters at all.”

  ***

  When I get to dinner, Marcus asks “How did it—” and my face must tell the whole story, because none of my friends bring up the test after that.

  “Hey!” says Luke, walking up to my table with a smile. “You would not believe how great today went! This morning I took some kids on a field trip to find natural ephemera for their three-D collages and—”

  “Whatever, Luke,” I say, not looking up at him. There’s a pause, and he says. “I couldn’t text you back, bro, I’m sorry. Brant told me you were more than ready to pass, though. How was it? You going to race me?”

  I keep eating and not looking at him. Michelle clears her throat.

  “Oh, wait, no,” Luke says, “Wait … really?”

  “Yeah, you really didn’t show up,” I snap. “Thanks a lot, you ruined it for me.”

  “Emmett, it’s not easy, I can’t always just take time off to babysit you—”

  “I thought you realized how important this was,” I say. “It’s not like I was just asking you to hang out with me. You’re the one who’s been saying what a big deal this stupid swim test was. I don’t even want to learn to swim.” It’s like my brain and my mouth are moving in two different directions. I know I’m being stupid, but I can’t stop.

  “I knew you didn’t need me,” he says. “And other people did. But I—”

  “Well, I guess you were wrong, because I failed. Again. Thanks, bro.” I stand and collect my dinner trash. Derek runs over and taps Luke on the shoulder.

  “Hey, Dr. Triphammer says we can use the multipurpose room,” he says. Derek looks at Charles, Michelle, and me and nods quickly.

  Luke gives me a quick shoulder hug and leans in to whisper. “I’m sorry, okay? But I talked to Brant yesterday and he said you were golden. You must have just gotten afraid.”

  I stare straight ahead. Michelle clears her throat again, and Charles starts humming some marching band kind of tune. After a minute, Luke leaves with Derek, who glances back a couple of times with a puzzled look on his face.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  We’ve got four days left, and I’m not checking for Luke anymore, I’m not even thinking about him. I don’t even notice Derek and him together all the time. And Derek is always following him around with a camera, probably distracting my brother from his job so he can help on some stupid project. I bet he kept Luke from showing up for my swim test. Whatever, I’m not doing it again. Maybe I’ll try when I get home and none of these people are around, maybe not. I was doing fine. Just when I thought I was settling in, that jerk had to ruin it for me.

  During badminton, I low key try to impress Natasha with my form.

  “You look like Arthur Ashe!” she says.

  “Who’s he?” I ask.

  “Never mind, and you actually don’t,” she answers, laughing. “I was just trying to be encouraging.”

  I like the easy way we can joke with each other. Normally I’d ask Luke for some tips on how to take it to the next level. As we put away the rackets and birdies, I remember how he tried to help me talk to Tonya when we were home. My brother wouldn’t have left me hanging unless it was for a very good reason. I bet Derek made up some stupid story and my stupid brother fell for it because all he cares about these days is looking like a super mentor junior counselor or whatever, and not being my brother. But whatever, I don’t even
care about that anymore. I wasted too much time on that stupid film idea. Not anymore. If I really got here on a fluke, I’m going to prove that I should have been here all along.

  Charles has given me one of his backup planners, and I carry it everywhere, just like him. It’s actually helping me schedule time to work on Michelle’s play, take my turns at quizzing Natasha, work on my choreography for the Street Style team dance and my letter to myself for Black to the Future. The one thing I haven’t worked on is my solo. Triple M stopped asking me about it. I know it’s the thing that will help me leave this place with a good impression, but I just don’t have time.

  Charles has been around Michelle’s rehearsals as much as he can, so I end up spending a lot of time with my friends anyway. Every once in a while, I work with Charles on some moves so he can impress Michelle on the last night, but he doesn’t get far beyond the two step; he’s so happy about having even a little rhythm that it seems like he’ll be cool with uncle-at-the-wedding dancing for the rest of his life.

  I’ve been seeing Natasha and a few of her team members huddle up at lunch or after dinner, and I think about joining them, but it seems like she has it covered. I’ve been trying to do better after our little talk, but also look like I’m not trying too hard, the way Derek does, always in her face (when he’s not in Luke’s.) But then I miss out on opportunities to talk to her, and that’s frustrating. Charles says it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, and then he says a lot more things that he’s read in his Encyclopedia of Prophecy and Prediction. It doesn’t help.

  ***

  Ms. Clay makes me take all my finished pinch pots out of the studio; I know I won’t have room for thirty-seven bowlish-shaped objects in my room, but maybe Mom will appreciate my “sustained artistic effort,” which is what Ms. Clay calls it as she gives me a box to carry them back to my room. I can feel the end of camp getting closer, and I’m not sure what I’ll have to show for it. Yesterday, Michelle and I came in third on the gingerbread house challenge; our Leaning Tower of Pisa just fell over. But it was delicious.