It Doesn't Take a Genius

by Olugbemisola Rhuday Perkovich

  “This hike is just tonight right?” I ask. “And it’s not all night?”

  “Yep!” he says. “I used to overpack, but I’ve learned my lesson.”

  I look at him. “Sunscreen? I mean, it’s a night hike. And you’re Black, anyway.”

  “UV rays never sleep,” he answers, but he takes it out of the bag. Then he puts a bottle of lotion in. “You’re not gonna let me be ashy,” he says.

  I shrug and pick up my one backpack with a flashlight and the bag of raisins from Mom’s last care package.

  “No stuffed animals?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows. Wait, he knew? I scowl at him for a minute, but then I have to laugh. We both do, and that feels good.

  “You got jokes. No, bruh, they’re staying here,” I say. “They’re Black too, which means they’re smart enough to know that a night hike in the woods probably means killers in hockey masks lurking around every corner. Or mosquitos at least, which I now believe are just as bad.”

  When we get to the meetup spot, everyone is buzzing. A few people from Street Style come up and say they heard I wasn’t going to be in the routine that I choreographed, but I just apologize for missing rehearsal.

  “I thought I had to take care of something,” I say, “but I was wrong.” I work hard to keep my face fixed when I realize that the girl who’s doing the solo, Kelly, is the one who’s always talking about how she goes to dance classes at Alvin Ailey. She’s good. They’re not going to miss me.

  “What happened?” asks Charles. “You missed rehearsal?!”

  I’m saved from answering when Michelle, Natasha, and Troy walk over. Natasha says hey in my general direction. I’ll take it. The counselors yell at us to get together, Dr. Triphammer blah-blah-blahs the rules, and Marcus claps (which is his outside version of knocking). Finally the night hike begins.

  “Wow, the moon is bright tonight,” says Michelle as we walk. “I almost didn’t need to bring this flashlight.”

  Charles gives me a significant look. “Some people told me to leave my sunscreen at home. I mean, do we really know that the moon doesn’t damage our skin?”

  “Yeah, actually we do,” says Natasha. “Speaking of moon, can you guys quiz me as we walk? Did you know Ed Dwight might have been the first Black astronaut in space but ended up becoming a sculptor instead?”

  “Anyway, our melanin protects us,” says Troy. “Black people can’t get sunburned.”

  “That’s what I said!” I say.

  “Are you serious?” asks Michelle. “That’s another stereotype. A dangerous one. Black people need to protect their skin from the sun too.” A couple of counselors shush us. I guess we’re supposed to be enjoying the beauteous mysteries of night nature or whatever, but it’s clearly all the same stuff we see during the day, so it’s not that magical. In fact, I have to ask Charles if I can borrow his bug spray because the mosquitoes seem to be the ones enjoying the hike the most.

  “And you’re real light-skinned, Troy, talking like that about how you got vibranium-level melanin,” whispers Natasha. We all laugh, but we cover our mouths fast after Marcus claps at us. “A mind is a terrible thing to waste,” she adds, shaking her head, but she nudges Troy in a jokey way. I try to catch her eye, but then she and Michelle walk ahead of us and start going over the Black scientist category.

  “Why did you miss rehearsal?” Charles asks again. “And when do you think I should give the signal for the serenade?”

  “It was just a mix-up,” I say. “I don’t really feel like talking about it.” I’m too embarrassed to tell Charles what I did. Every time I see Derek talking to someone my stomach tightens up, but it looks like he means it when he says he doesn’t snitch. Dr. Triphammer hasn’t come and dragged me away, Mom hasn’t whirled up here like an angry parental tornado, and Triple M just looks through me every time I’m in his line of vision, which is worse than yelling. It’s like I’ve disappeared. “I think you should do the concert when we stop for s’mores by the big lake,” I say. “We’ll all be sitting and ready to focus.” And too tired to make fun of a night hike wind ensemble concert. “How many miles is the hike again?”

  “I keep forgetting this is your first year,” says Charles. “It’s about five miles total. Didn’t you read the orientation packet?”

  Five miles!

  “Uh, can I get one of those granola bars?” He smiles and hands me two. Charles is a good guy. He goes over to talk to Marcus and Dr. Triphammer about his wind ensemble takeover plans. Luke is up ahead, so even though I’m thinking I need to conserve energy, I know there’s something else I need to do even more. I fast-walk closer to him and his group.

  “Hey,” I say, ignoring the looks of the little kids around him. Two are holding his hands, one on each side, so I have to speak louder than I really want to. “How’s it going?”

  Luke raises his eyebrows. “Fine,” he says. A little boy runs up.

  “I heard there’s a tiger in the woods!” The other kids scream, and Luke reminds them that we’re in the same New York woods that we’re in every day, and tigers are not a part of it. Then he leads them in singing the DuBois song, and he looks at me until I join in.

  After a while, his senior counselor takes the group ahead for some kind of scavenger hunt.

  “Whew.” Luke takes a long drink from his water bottle. I guess he read the orientation packet. “Those kids can be a lot.”

  “Yeah,” I start eagerly. “You must be tired. You’ve got a lot of responsibility here, and …” I trail off under the look of skepticism on his face.

  “What do you need now, Emmett?” he says. “You’ve been icing me out ever since your swim test. What’s up?”

  “Um, yeah … about that …” I clear my throat. “I’m sorry. I was just frustrated and I took it out on you. But you did promise,” I can’t help but add.

  “Yeah. I shouldn’t have. I know that my time isn’t my own here. I’ve been telling you that since we got here. Since before we got here. You don’t listen.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. But why did you promise, then?”

  “Because you were making me feel bad! It’s hard enough, trying to get you to be more independent when I’m worried about how you’re going to manage at Heart High next year. Mac is a punk, but he’s an annoying punk. And who’s going to cook and shop and help Mom?”

  I’m just staring at him and end up tripping over a rock as we walk. Luke grabs my arm and sighs. “I was mad at first about you going behind my back to come here,” he says. “But then I thought, ‘Okay, it’s a way to help him see how great he already is, how much he can do himself, how he doesn’t need me jumping in all the time.’ I’m trying to let you do you, but you don’t want to let me do me!”

  “I didn’t realize that I was such a burden,” I say. “I guess it’s good that you’re going to that school, with all those rich kids. Rich people care about one thing—getting theirs. You’ll probably fit right in. And no wonder you and Derek—” I stop. After what I did, I feel like I lost the right to talk about Derek. Especially since it’s clear he really didn’t tell anyone.

  “E, I didn’t mean that I don’t care—”

  “Forget it,” I say. “Clearly I’m a big baby. I need to grow up; I get it.” We walk in silence for a minute.

  Then a little kid named Nathaniel comes up. “I have to pee,” he says to Luke. Luke looks around. “Uh, maybe over there?” he says, pointing to a clump of bushes.

  “That’s the poison ivy pee patch,” I mutter. I learned that from hanging out with Lance. I take Nathaniel’s hand and bring him over to a safe spot, far away from Dr. Triphammer’s eagle eyes. “Make it quick,” I say.

  When we get back, Luke gives Nathaniel some hand sanitizer, and Nathaniel runs away to catch up with his friends. He doesn’t say thank you or look back at me.

  “Little kids, man,” says Luke. “They’re a lot.”

  “Yeah, I get it,” I say. “You don’t have to keep rubbing it in.”

  “I’m not
talking about you, Emmett, come on. I just … This job is hard. I’m not sure it’s right for me. I’ve been trying hard to lock in a senior counselor position for next summer, but … I may not even want that.”

  I’m surprised. “But you always look so smooth and the kids all like you.” I don’t add that Derek lives to be his mini-me.

  “I’m trying my best, but it’s stressful,” says Luke. “I don’t even know if I’d ever want to work with kids again. I may not be cut out for it. But I got responsibilities, I got things I can still learn from this.”

  Just then, Derek walks up next to Luke on his other side. “Hey, Luke …” He glances at me. “Are we still going to sketch at the campfire? I brought the little pencils for the group.”

  “Thanks, Derek,” he says. “You are an intern supreme.” As they start talking, I move away and look around for my friends. There’s a tap at my back. I turn; it’s Lance.

  “I’m afraid,” he says. “Can I hold your hand?” He sniffles and wipes a little snot from under his nose. “And I need a tissue.”

  I’m afraid to even think of what kind of nasty germs are partying on Lance’s hands right now. I start to tell him to wait until I can find Nathaniel and the hand sanitizer, or tell him to get some wipes from his counselor, but then I look at him and stop. Lance has been a mess since day one. I know how that goes. And how good it feels to have friends in spite of that.

  “Okay, let’s go find some tissues together,” I say, taking his hand.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  If you make a mistake, it’s okay! Some people act like a mistake is the end of the world. If that were true, none of us would be here, because everybody makes mistakes. Just try to find out what the mistake was, let it go, and try not to do it again. Just because you make a mistake, there is nothing wrong with you. It just means that, like everybody else, you still have more to learn. Sometimes, people make the same mistake over and over again. That’s okay. Just make sure you always try to do the right thing and try to do your best at whatever you do.

  There are two days of camp left and even though it’s our last real day of classes, I hang around the Street Style studio until I can chat with Triple M. He glances up when I walk in, but by the way he keeps packing up fast, he’s not welcoming a heart-to-heart with me today. I take a deep breath.

  “Mr. Micah McDowell?” I wait until he looks at me. “I wanted to … apologize. Again.”

  “Accepted,” he says, going back to his packing. I still stand there, and he looks up again. “Can I help you with anything else?”

  “It may not seem like it, but I’ve grown a lot here …” The look he gives me reminds me of how short I am. “I mean, not literally, maybe, but … I’ve learned a lot. About dance, and history, and now, and … me. So, I want to say that I’m sorry and thank you.”

  He nods. “I’ve heard good things about the work you’ve been doing with that play …”

  “The Two Amys?”

  He nods again. “And contrary to what you may believe, I did see you helping out your classmates—you have the makings of a choreographer, Emmett.”

  “Really, sir?” I can’t believe he’s saying something nice to me. “Like you?”

  “Not at all like me,” he says, laughing a short laugh. “But like you.”

  “I don’t even know who I am anymore,” I say, sitting on the bench and leaning against the mirror.

  “Did you think you knew who you were before?” This time he laughs for real. “That’s what life is, figuring and refiguring that out. But it’s your identity, and no one can take that away from you,” he says, then he pauses. “Or give it to you either.”

  There’s no way that he can know how much I thought I needed Luke to survive, right? Sometimes Triple M seems like some kind of wizard. “This place. It’s like some kind of Black Hogwarts,” I mutter.

  “Try Virginia Hamilton,” he says.

  “Who’s Virginia Hamilton?”

  He shakes his head. “A great writer. Stories about the best kind of Black magic. The true kind. Also Octavia Butler and Nnedi Okorafor.”

  “I don’t get …” I start, but he puts up a hand.

  “You might later,” he says. “Or you might not. It’s up to you.” Then he leaves, not even waiting to make sure I leave first so he can lock up. So I stay for a while, looking at myself in the mirror. And then I start working on a new dance.

  ***

  I’m sure Triphammer thought it would be a good idea to end the camp session with a Superhero Secrets class, but we all wish we could have had a double period of Black to the Future instead.

  “Well, it’s our last time together,” says Shiny Suit Man, who’s actually wearing jeans today. They’re super sharply creased down the front, like they’ve been ironed by the Hulk, and he’s wearing a light blue button-down shirt and these weird platformy shoes that look like they have woven straw at the bottom. No one even pays attention to him clearing his throat up in front anymore; this has been such a waste. Finally Marcus does some of his signature hand claps, and we settle down.

  Vanessa raises her hand. “Are you wearing espadrilles?” she asks. “Because that’s corny.”

  A few people laugh, but most of us just sit there.

  “Yes, they are espadrilles, and they may be corny to you, but I’ve liked them ever since I went to Italy for a language immersion program,” says Shiny Suit Man. “They bring me good memories.”

  “Oh, so you’re just bougie, then,” yells out Troy, and more people laugh. Marcus threatens to clap us away or something, and we quiet down.

  Shiny Suit Man shrugs. “I’m me,” he says. “And I’m working every day to be the best me that I can be. I hope you are too. Those are the lessons that I’ve tried to share here. I’m going to give you this final period for reflection, written or otherwise.” He looks at the staff and Triphammer, who are all huddled on the right side of the room. “Feel free to send me any feedback.” They look surprised, probably because they expected him to do a little more for the last class. I’m not, though; Shiny Suit Man is nothing if not consistent. Well, and also corny. He starts packing up his stuff and walking toward the door, ignoring the murmurs of the campers who are already taking out phones, making paper airplanes out of his workbook pages, and practicing for the Camp Showcase. At the door, he turns around. “And while y’all are worrying about my shoes and how corny I am? I’ll be fine, living my best life as usual. Ciao.” He shuts the door. And we all spontaneously burst into applause. Because, well, that was a pretty great exit. Respect.

  ***

  I sit on the aisle for Black to the Future, because I’m hoping to catch Kelly before class starts. She comes in with Triple M, showing him a few moves as they enter the auditorium. I wait until he leaves, then I go up to her. “You look ready for your solo,” I say.

  “Yeah,” she says. “I’ve been working.” She smiles an uncomfortable smile, and I can tell she doesn’t know what to say.

  “I’ll be cheering,” I say. “If you want me to help you warm up before the show, I can.”

  She smiles a real smile. “Thanks, I appreciate that. And, I’m sorry, you know, that you … that you’re not doing this. The stuff you were showing us was fire. You’re really good.”

  I shrug. “Next summer,” I say. “So watch your back.” She laughs, and I go back to my seat.

  Triphammer is standing up front with Charisse and Gordon, and since nobody is trying to get in trouble right before our parents come to pick us up, we settle down as soon as he blows his whistle. “I’ve been reading over your written reflections about this class,” he begins.

  I never finished mine! Another thing I didn’t do. Camp went by so fast.

  “And I’m impressed. Every year, DuBois campers show me that they’re made of greatness. That they truly are the descendants of kings and queens—”

  “And plumbers,” calls out Troy.

  “Navy SEALS!” yells another kid.

  “Visiting nurses!
” says Hannah. “Three generations!”

  Suddenly everyone is yelling out their parents’ and grandparents’ and great-grandparents’ jobs. “Filmmakers and chefs!” says Natasha, who’s sitting in the row behind me. I could have been going to her for Mom surprise meal tips all this time.

  “Orchestra musicians,” says Charles.

  “Both of your parents?” I ask.

  “Three generations,” he replies. “You can’t be surprised.”

  It keeps going, and for once Triphammer doesn’t make us stop; he just stays up there smiling.

  “Nurse-turned-doctor and …” I whisper, then I stop. My dad never even finished becoming who he was. I don’t know, maybe he would have done something different like Mom is now. Or maybe he was an artist, like Luke, and I don’t remember. I feel the tears, but it’s okay. “And someone who loved hard,” I say. Michelle pats me on my shoulder from one side, Charles from the other. I feel a hand on my back. I look up; it’s Luke.

  “I see all the best parts of him and Mom in you, you know. We should talk about it on the way home. But most of all, I see all the best parts of you. I always will, even when the … not so great traits rear their ugly heads.”

  I nod and smile as Lance leans over and hands me a possibly not-new tissue. “Ugly?” I say to Luke. “You wish you looked like me.” He leans down and gives me a quick hug, then he heads back to the section where his group is.

  “So our final question was going to be ‘When did you first realize you were Black?’” starts Gordon. “But we figure if you’re here, you know it now, and that’s what counts.”

  “‘And if you don’t know, now you know,’” chimes in Charisse, quoting Biggie Smalls. It’s never corny when she does that stuff. “The new question is ‘What does it mean for you to be Black?’”

  Triphammer raises his eyebrows, then shrugs and nods.

  “Talk among yourselves,” says Gordon. And we really do, except Hannah, who starts taking selfies.

  “What is being Black anyway?” asks Michelle. “The Amys would probably say it’s having a connection to our African roots.”