Born in Sin by Evelyn Coleman

From the Publisher

"Come on Betty...Can't nobody stop us from winning, 'cause we fish," Keisha whispers fiercely to her friend. "I want you to swim. Come on...You and me, the first black girls going to the Olympics. Remember?"

For Betty, winning now means swimming upward from the depths of near-death. In the cold hum of the hospital, only Keisha can remember their dreams from earlier that summer, when she was to attend a premed vacation school at nearby Avery University. She had the grades for it. And her mama was determined to make it happen, no matter what. Keisha dreamed of being a doctor. Betty dreamed desperately of having a friend.

They were both at risk -- at least that's the label Keisha gets slapped with when, instead of to Avery, she is sent to a high-minded, white-hearted urban rescue program for teens in poverty, or, as she figures it, born in sin. She is outraged to be thrown together with Clarissa, Phyllis, and Kimberly, but turns anger to something just as powerful -- the will to prove her doubters wrong. For this she has friends beyond the family she knows -- one ally especially. Plus Malik, Betty's watchful brother, who wants beauty to be there for everyone. Like the sky.

Born in Sin, which Keisha tells with straight-forward, often funny frankness, is part gritty drama, part victory lap, and all heart.

Publishers Weekly

A guidance counselor thwarts Keisha's efforts to get into a pre-med track and places her in a summer program for at-risk kids; however, she learns there to deal with her own racial prejudice, and uncovers a natural talent for swimming. "Keisha's rise to the top will keep readers enthralled," said PW. Ages 12-up. (Jan.)

Publishers Weekly

Keisha, a 14-year-old growing up in Georgia, narrates the events of a pivotal summer in Coleman's (White Socks Only) inspiring novel. When her high school guidance counselor thwarts her efforts to get into Avery's fast-track pre-med program and instead places Keisha in a summer program for at-risk kids, Keisha erupts in a rage (" `You know what, Ms. Hill. Ain't the hospital just a few blocks away? I ain't the one at risk. You are.' And I leaped over the desk to get to her"). The author carefully finesses Keisha's complex emotions as she attempts to be true to herself and to navigate the obstructions in her path. It is Keisha's strong narrative voice, combined with some striking characters and relationships, that keeps her story afloat, despite some far-fetched and serpentine plot developments. Through this summer at-risk program, Keisha learns to deal with her own racial prejudice, makes her first real friends and discovers that she has a natural talent for swimming. Readers may find that Keisha's acceleration from non-swimmer to Olympic hopeful stretches credibility. And the two-dimensional portrayal of the white leaders of the at-risk program (they speak in sports metaphors, for instance) detracts from the more penetrating, insidious examples of racism (such as the conversation between Miss Troutman, the head of the program, and Keisha's mother) elsewhere in the novel. But the authentic interactions here far outweigh the missteps. The relationships among the women form the core of the novel: tender bedtime conversations between Keisha and her older sister, many touching scenes between Keisha and her mother, and the heroine's recollections of her grandmother ("As long as there's stars in the sky we gonna be all right. My grandma taught me that before she died and I believe her"). Keisha's rise to the top will keep readers enthralled. Ages 14-up. (Mar.) Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information.

Children's Literature

Keisha wants to attend the premed program at Avery College but the high school guidance counselor believes black girls can't do anything but have babies, and she sends her to a camp for poor, at-risk kids. Keisha becomes a star swimmer, but now must pay to get into Avery. Her mother is determined that Keisha will attend college and has mysteriously started working at the Lion's Den where women earn money by selling themselves or drugs. Keisha's best friend, Betty, is also struggling and gets sucked into the world of drugs and false love, and tries to convince Keisha to give up and follow her destiny. Is Keisha doomed to a life of her past or will she be able to conquer her background and become an Olympic swimmer and medical student? The night Keisha follows her mother to the Lion's Den and gets beat up and almost raped by Betty's lover, she learns more secrets than she ever realized. Keisha's story is all too real, showing the struggle it takes to overcome her background and the environment and desperately try to hold on to her dreams. 2001, Atheneum Books for Young Readers, $16.00. Ages 12 to 18. Reviewer: Janet L. Rose

VOYA

With dreams of becoming a doctor, Keisha Wright longs to attend the summer pre-med program at Avery University. The competition is fierce, but Keisha knows that being an African American student—and hardworking—should bolster her chances. After being mistakenly labeled "at risk," however, her life takes an unexpected detour to a youth center, where she discovers an innate talent for competitive swimming. Living in the inner city housing projects taxes everyone, including Keisha's tough-as-nails mom, Carolyn, and her two siblings, older sister Rhenda, who is mother to year-old Tomika, and brother Punky. Struggling to make ends meet, Carolyn will go to any length necessary to raise the funds for Keisha's dreams—including keeping secrets from her children. Keisha's newfound competitive edge places her at odds with both old and new friends, as she also struggles to sort out her feelings for Malik, her best friend Betty's handsome and sensitive older brother. The characters' dialect is powerfully accurate. Young readers will feel Keisha's horror at hearing Betty's strung-out, alcoholic mother curse her own daughter for being "high yellow" and accuse her of stealing her boyfriend. Born in Sin succeeds at portraying the uphill climb of children from urban, single-parent families. Written in the tradition of Walter Dean Myers's Slam! (Scholastic, 1996/VOYA February 1997) and Ben Joravsky's Hoop Dreams (Turner, 1995), this book will fly off the shelves of urban high school libraries. VOYA CODES: 4Q 4P J S (Better than most, marred only by occasional lapses; Broad general YA appeal; Junior High, defined as grades 7 to 9; Senior High, defined as grades 10 to 12). 2001,Atheneum/S & S, 240p, Ages 13 to 18. Reviewer: Beth Gilbert SOURCE: VOYA, April 2001 (Vol. 24, No.1)

KLIATT

This is a complicated story about a smart African American girl dreaming of a better life, escaping poverty, her mother's dead-end jobs, and her crime-ridden neighborhood filled with people who have given up. Keisha is entering 10th grade, hoping to become a doctor, studying hard, making good grades. In the summer of this novel, she is part of a program for young people "at risk," a term she resents. As the weeks unfold, she finds out just how "at risk" she really is and she is ready to give up her ambition, give up her dreams, as one crisis after another overtakes her family and friends. As interesting a character as the talented Keisha is, her mother, her best friend, and her older sister are also women whose lives and life choices are riveting. Readers see that Keisha's decisions actually are affected by the decisions these other women close to her have made. Each one has given up dreams; each one has made choices that perpetuate the self-hatred that causes Keisha to feel that somehow they are all "born in sin"—doomed to poverty, ignorance, and self-destruction. At the end of this novel, a catharsis occurs that clears away the secrets that have kept them from their dreams, and with this cleansing comes hope for Keisha. Some may feel that it is a too-happy ending; I for one was glad to hope for Keisha's future happiness. As to style: Keisha knows that sometimes her English is ungrammatical, but she knows correct English; this fact is reflected in the narrative. Other characters also use various forms of English, from street talk to middle-class standard, and Coleman juggles this well. There is some mild swearing; there is mention of molestation; there is an attemptedrape—but the worst violence is the day-to-day struggle of Keisha, her family, her friends and neighbors—and the destruction of their lives and their dreams. KLIATT Codes: JS—Recommended for junior and senior high school students. 2001, Simon & Schuster/Atheneum, 234p, 00-025947, $16.00. Ages 13 to 18. Reviewer: Claire Rosser; March 2001 (Vol. 35 No. 2)

School Library Journal

Gr 8 Up-In gritty vernacular, Keisha Wright narrates a testimonial depicting the racial stereotypes and socioeconomic hardships that many urban African-American teens struggle to overcome. A good student with ambitions to become a doctor, she learns that she has been transferred out of the college-prep curriculum by a guidance counselor who considers her to be at-risk. Shocked and angry, the 14-year-old is bolstered by the stalwart affection and support of her hardworking single mother, her intuitive unwed older sister who has a two-year-old, and her loyal younger brother. Attending a white-run teen-rescue program, Keisha discovers her swimming ability and is groomed for Olympic trials by an admiring coach. Her resurrected hopes for success beyond her poor neighborhood seem shattered when a local drug dealer shoots her pregnant best friend and then attacks Keisha. However, through a series of revelations-her mother's additional source of income, the reappearance of her absentee father, and the admiration of her best friend's sensitive brother-Keisha's aspirations revive and she realizes she can create her own future. The protagonist is a determined, observant teen who values family and lives by her grandma and mama's adages, including the one that says, "just `cause we poor, don't mean we born in sin." An assortment of white and African-American characters populate the story, reflecting a variety of backgrounds in education, tolerance, motivation, and influence. Although the happy ending may rattle cynics, teenage readers will find promise, hope, and satisfaction in Keisha's prospects.-Gerry Larson, Durham School of the Arts, NC Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information.

Kirkus Reviews

Keisha is 14; she's smart, she works hard, and she has a really good Mama. She knows who is trouble in the projects, where she lives, and she worries about her older sister, a mother at 17. In this complicated narrative, Keisha longs to apply to a pre-med program for high-school students at a nearby college. At first she's thwarted by well-meaning, but prissy and patronizing, counselors and teachers both white and black. But when she's forced to join the summer program for "at-risk" kids, she reveals a hidden talent-she's a natural swimmer. Keisha is unsparing in her views, and the drug dealer, the good coach, the naïve best friend, and the oreo are sketched in broad strokes. Family secrets, little brothers, how the simplest of gestures can be misinterpreted in the crucible of race, and the dubious and universal teen skill of utterly misconstruing the actions of adults all play a part here. Unfortunately, much of this seems forced, as though the author wanted to include everything she could think of that would teach a lesson. This requires a plot worthy of an afternoon soap with plot devices that stretch credibility. (Could any teen become Olympics-ready in less than a summer?) Keisha moves comfortably from trash talk to Standard English, thinking of herself as bilingual. She makes hard choices and stupid mistakes, but she's a character bigger than the page; most of the other players are hardly visible when she's on stage. (Fiction. YA)

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In homeroom, like always, the crackling started first. "Will the following Primm students please report to the office: Keisha Wright, Betty Shabazz, Kente Sha-bazz, Malik Shabazz, Roberta Santos, Elayna Rodriguez, Paulie Cooper, and Sammy Ray Lee."

I'm thinking, Why they got to say Primm students? They think other school's students here?

I heard a pssst.

I turned around and looked into the face of a goat.

"Keisha Wright, you in trouble."

"Kiss my you-know-what, Sammy Ray," I said. "I ain't in no trouble." But I wasn't as sure as I sounded. Why would anybody call me to the office with Sammy Ray goat-head Lee? He stayed in trouble. I ain't been in no real trouble since I was nine years old and I pushed Jackie Payton out of the swing 'cause she called me a punk. And I quit talking in class this year. I was trying to think what they could be calling me for while I got my books together.

Ms. Parker, my homeroom teacher, looked at me and barked, "Take all your things with you, Keisha. You're not coming back today."

"Why ain't I?" I asked her.

"How many times do I have to tell you it's not 'Why ain't I?' Just get your things and go to the office like-I-said."

She hates me, Ms. Parker. She hates me and I don't know why. I'm the only black girl in her class and she's black, too. Real black. Blacker than me, even. But she just plain hates me. Ever since I got to ninth grade she's been picking on me about something. "Good," I said to her. "I'm glad to not come back." I rolled my eyes to let her know she ain't the only one who can hate somebody.

I yanked my book bag out from under my desk and stuffed my books inside. Sammy Ray hadalready gone. He was a white boy, but she didn't hate him. He was the biggest troublemaker in school and most times Ms. Parker act like he ain't doing or saying nothing. At least that part was right -- he wasn't doing nothing. And he never had any books with him, so it was easy for him to leave.

"Do you have to disrupt the entire class just to get your books, Keisha?"

I wanted to say, Yes, yes I do, but I didn't. I wasn't talking to that witch no more today. All she wanted was for me to be in trouble. Naw. It ain't gonna happen. That would make her way too happy. I tiptoed to the door, looked back at her, and smiled. Then I walked out in the hall, sat my book bag down on the floor, and slammed the door shut as hard as I could. That ought to help her.

On my way to the office my heartbeat speeded up. I realized I knew what this was about -- why I was called to the office. I applied for the special summer program for smart kids. I been making straight A's and B's since I was in the third grade. Last year I made up my mind to become a doctor. I was even let into the tenth grade chemistry class this semester.

I picked up my feet higher. I felt lighter, like maybe I was gonna float right through the ceiling. Man. This was the bomb -- that means something good getting ready to blow up for you. I stopped and straightened my blouse and tucked it inside my skirt. Dag. I hated our iron was broke. I wanted to look nice when Ms. Hill told me in front of the other kids they called that I was there for something else.

It had to be that I'd been selected. That had to be it. I shot into the bathroom and combed my hair. My hair was the longest it had ever been and I was glad. I loved having long hair. Rhenda had long hair and so did Mama, down their backs. But mine never grew that long. Grandma used to put black thread on it and hook the plaits together to make my hair grow. Mama buys me special grease now. I suppose it's working -- a little, I said, looking at it in the mirror. The edges were kinky, but when it's getting hot out, ain't no helping that.

I attempted to pull some of the wrinkles out of my blouse by smoothing out the cloth with my hands. It didn't work. This blouse was made from permanent-wrinkle material. I looked at myself again. My pug nose stuck out on my face. My mama said my kind of nose runs in the family. "People," my mama say, "can look and see that you come from healthy people who don't have no problem with breathing when it's hot." She says stuff like that to me and Rhenda -- you know, to make us feel good about how we look. We both dark chocolate girls. When we was little and kids be picking on us, we'd run home and tell Mama. We would say, "So and so callin' us black."

Mama just squinch up her face, lean back with one hand on her hip, and say, "So. You are black. What? You don't like looking like me? Besides, the blacker the berry the sweeter the juice." For a while she almost make me stop eating berries.

Mama liked for me to feel good about myself and she liked me doing good in school. She said she was proud of my grades when I brought my last report card home. She say, "Smart girls don't make dumb mistakes." I know what she really talking about. Getting pregnant.

This summer I was gonna go to college, Avery University -- a rich folk's college with a medical school and all. Can you believe it? They were doing a special program for the smart kids who wanted to be in medicine. The summer was for the orientation. Then in the fall we start a three-year program that would allow us special admission to Avery after we graduate high school.

We are going to be bused there every day because the university is a long ways away. We're going to have lunch in the cafeteria, free. Every kid gets a computer of his or her own to take home.

I walked faster now, psyched up about hearing the announcement. I was more excited than I'd ever been. Hey, this was gonna be the best summer of my life.

When I got to the office the secretary told me everyone needed to go in the classroom next door. She said there wasn't enough room in the office for the meeting.

"What kind of meeting?" I asked her, thinking to myself, This don't seem right. I figured them other kids called to the office was in trouble, and ain't had nothing to do with me. The secretary grunted and pointed toward the door. When I got in the room the other kids were already there, sitting down. A man and a woman that I'd never seen before sat up front with Ms. Hill. She was looking through some papers. The kids she'd called, on the same list as me, were acting silly, along with a few kids I didn't know. They were all making too much noise, including Sammy Ray Lee.

I sat down and said, "Shut up, y'all, so she can talk. You know Ms. Hill don't like no talking when she talking." If she was giving us a standardized test the crazy woman would just stand up front, rolling her eyes around till everyone in the room stop breathing, just so she go ahead and stop making them ugly faces. Everybody was still yapping, so I added, "And you know she ain't gon' talk till we quiet." I actually knew better English, but if I'd used it they woulda' never shut up.

"You shut up, turd brain," Kente Shabazz said loudly.

"Leave her alone," Betty said, her pencil whipping through the air at his head.

She was named after Dr. Betty Shabazz -- but she don't act like she even know who that was.

"Don't be taking up for her, fool," Malik Shabazz shouted. "She coming down on your own brother."

Then they started fussing real loud with each other. All three of them were half brothers and sister. They were all in the same grade 'cause Malik and Kente had been left back. Betty was in her right grade, tenth going on to eleventh. She could still be mean if she wanted to. Me and her weren't no best friends, even though we were in the same PE class, where some of the ninth grade is in with the tenth, so I think she just was taking up for me to get back at them.

Then Ms. Hill looked up and said, "Children, please be quiet."

I smiled. Ms. Hill was one of those black people who act entirely different when any bigwig folks around. I knew that the two people must be real special company from Avery 'cause otherwise she'd be yelling, "You better sit your little behinds down before I throw all y'all out."

Malik was still talking and I waited for her to ask him to step out in the hall but she didn't. Instead, she began telling us about our lives.

Ms. Hill say in her excited voice she's got a "wonderful opportunity for at-risk children." She says this to us just like we been knowing full well, all the time, we at-risk of something. Until that moment I don't know what she even talking about.

I swung my head around, looking to see if the others knew what she meant. I was the smartest kid in there, and I didn't know, so I figured we were all lost. But something in her way of saying this silenced everybody, even Malik. He was looking at his feet, slumped down in the chair so far, I thought if he wasn't so big he'd slip right under the desk arm.

The way Ms. Hill kept talking soon made me want to cry. For a minute I couldn't even hear her no more. I could just hear the sound of what she was saying but not the words. She sound like she talking about some ants who don' showed up uninvited to her picnic.

It turned out Sammy Ray Lee was the only one who really understood her. He jumped up out of his seat and shouted, "Wait a minute. You old witch, how you know what we got? I'm outta here. You ain't nothin', either," and he stormed out.

The two visitors looked stunned. Then they went back to shaking their heads in agreement that me and the other kids was at-risk for something. Not just any old something, but something really bad.

Ms. Hill kept saying to us in such a sweet, helping voice, "This program will enable you to live a better life. You'll be surrounded by educated people, people who care about what happens to you. People who can help you learn to live right and do the right things."

Now I was really confused. Weren't the teachers doing all this? Weren't they educated?

Ms. Hill kept on talking, raising her voice higher, like she was getting all worked up. She said if these people didn't help us, we were not just going to have bad luck, we were going to use or sell crack, have no self-esteem, no self-respect, be killing each other or go to jail -- and that there wasn't much we could do about the future unless somebody, like them, saved us from how we lived.

To me, how I lived meant living with my mama, my sister and Tomika, and my brother. I lived with my family.

Ms. Hill continued loudly, in a TV preacher's voice, "Unless you attend this program, there isn't much hope for you." And then she warned us, "I know if no one else can see it, one day you all are going to be dead."

I thought to myself, even though I didn't really curse that often, What in the hell she talking about? Everybody gonna be dead one day.

Then the man got up. He told us how happy he was to see us. And the woman said she was going to pass out this paper for our mamas to sign so we could have permission to attend their special summer program.

I thought, mamas? Some of us got daddies, you know. Not me, of course, but still -- I didn't say nothing. Our daddy is dead. I just took the paper she handed me and looked for that blue emblem I remembered on top of all the forms I had filled out that said AVERY UNIVERSITY. But it wasn't there. Wasn't nothing there to tell you where the paper come from. Nothing but a place to fill in your name and stuff. And some kind of government-funding crap. So I raised my hand.

Ms. Hill looked up at me and said, "Yes, Keisha darling."

I squeezed up my face. Yes, Keisha darling? When did she ever call us anything like that? Man, was she showing out.

"Ms. Hill," I said, clearing my throat and trying to think proper English in my head. My mama say you got to be bilingual if you want to get a good job one day. She say it's all right to talk however you want to at home, but don't do it at school. "Excuse me, but is this the permission form for my mother to fill out for Avery? Because Ms. Oliver, you know Ms. Dorothy Oliver, said the other day she spoke to the director and he said I was already in, even though I hadn't finished the interview process.I mean, I've been preliminarily accepted to the program. All that was left was for me to be notified about my interview time. And my mother to fill out the permission form."

"First of all," Ms. Hill said, smiling at me from behind the desk, "Ms. Oliver is a biology teacher, not a guidance counselor, and she shouldn't have been messing with that."

"Yes, but she was helping me with -- "

"It's okay. She didn't know your history. It's important to be practical about our expectations in making choices. I'm sorry, Keisha, that she mislead you. But I changed your curriculum from college prep to general for the next school term. You aren't eligible for that program anymore. This is the program you got -- I mean, the program you were assigned to. I feel this one will be better for you in the long run. It's a special program for at-risk kids."

Now I could see what I didn't notice before: Ms. Oliver is black and she cares about me, but Ms. Hill is just like Ms. Parker: She might be black, but she hates me, too. I took a deep, long breath and said, "You know what, Ms. Hill. Ain't the hospital just a few blocks away?"

"Why yes, Keisha, it is a few blocks away. But this program is not at the hospital."

"I know that. But I ain't the one at risk. You are." And I leaped over the desk to get to her.

Copyright © 2001 by Evelyn Coleman

Chapter 3

I grabbed for Ms. Hill and yanked her blouse toward me. A few buttons flew off. I needed to get to her head. My fingers curled around her long, hay-looking hair and I snatched my hand back triumphant. Not only did I have her hair but her brown stocking cap with a knot tied in the end of it. Her hair (her real hair, that is) was in little black plaits sticking up on her head like Eddie Murphy's Buckwheat.

Ms. Hill grabbed her head and screamed like a loony cutting loose in the woods.

I swung her fake hair over my head in a circle and jumped up and down, laughing.

Malik was stomping on top of the desk, laughing so hard, tears was rolling down his face. "Damn," he rapped, "she ain't got no hair hardly at all. She be needing a new hair fall, and man, she be short not tall."

Betty yelled, "And that shit is napppppeeee. God, we thinking she got good hair up in here and look what's under that rag?"

Ms. Hill stumbled, tripped, and raced from the room, yelling for Mr. Bassgate the principal to call the police.

The two white people ain't even moved a muscle. They staring -- no, glaring at me, all big-eyed like I'm gonna get them next.

I stepped toward them to say, "I'm sorry."

But they threw up their arms to cover their face and head.

They didn't know nothin' 'bout me -- I ain't gon' hit nobody. And besides, they ain't got no wigs on. I stepped back and didn't say nothing else. What was the use?

I heard Mr. Bassgate running down the hall, swearing like he was in a pool room.

Ms. Hill was barking out stuff like a freaking wild dog right behind him.

The school security guy ran with them through the door.

Mr. Simms, the security guy who's too stupid to even be working near a school let alone in one, grabs my arm. "Girl, you don' don' it now."

I snatched my arm from him and said, "You better take your stinkin' hands off me."

He pulled out a stick and lifted it up like he was gon' hit me.

Malik dived off the desk.

He and Simms crashed to the floor. They rolled around, knocking over desks and cursing at each other.

I didn't move 'cause this wasn't what I wanted to happen. I didn't want no fighting. I attempted to pull them off each other.

Mr. Bassgate grabbed me by the hair and yanked me up.

I screamed and tried to get him off me, but when I was turning around my elbow jabbed him in the face.

He swore loudly and shoved me.

I stumbled forward and hit my mouth on the corner of a chair. Blood shot out like a bullet from a gun and splashed on the white woman's face.

She screamed so loud, everybody just stopped, motionless.

I looked up to see if somehow she'd been shot for real.

She was screaming and jumping up and down.

The white man was patting her shoulder and talking to her soft-like.

Betty was still laughing.

The other kids were hooting like fools.

Sirens screeched in the background while I held my mouth with my hand.

Malik was sitting on Simms now, smoking a cigarette that he wasn't supposed to have in school.

And Ms. Hill, who had picked her wig up off the floor, was still crying like an idiot with it sitting up on her head crooked. Her makeup looked like she belonged on a TV preaching show. You know, the ones where they got all that gold furniture in the back of 'em.

Police rushed through the door as if there was a bank robbery going down. And they grabbed me up like I'd been the one stealing the money.

Two other cops dragged Malik off that ignoramus Simms. They twisted Malik's arm behind his back and made him lay facedown on the floor.

Malik still held his cigarette in his mouth. But now it was crushed 'cause they don' smashed his head hard on the floor two times that I could count.

I was mad for real now 'cause that wasn't necessary, and Malik hadn't really done nothing to deserve it. They tied these plastic things around his wrist and then yanked him up to his feet. Now his face was bloody too.

A policewoman tied the plastic things around my wrists.

Ms. Hill was yelling that they got to take me to jail 'cause I threatened to kill her.

The lying witch.

The white man, who had been acting like he'd only had a bit part in this movie, said to the cops, "Look, this is a misunderstanding. There is no need to take these young people to jail. We're here to help them. They don't understand any other way to resolve conflict." Then, he turned to the police-uniformed brother who seemed to be in charge. "Are you in charge, sir?"

The brother cop said, "Yeah. I'm in charge." Then, like he'd just now figured out that he ought to be proud about it, he stuck out his chest and repeated, "Yeah, man. I'm the one in charge."

"Well sir, I'm attorney Carl Pierce. We're with the Save the Children At-Risk Foundation, SCARF. We came here to help these unfortunate young people, not get them in trouble. So hopefully we can resolve this misunderstanding in a civilized and peaceful manner. We're enrolling your young people in a program that will help them with all their emotional problems. Surely as an African American you can understand that these children have no resources, no values, and no home training and that's why the last thing they need is to be carted off to jail to comingle with more criminals. They need to get out of this neighborhood and see how responsible citizens live. Do you understand what I'm trying to say here?"

"Yes, I do," the brother said. He nodded to his men, and they began snapping off my plastic cuffs.

One of them asked the brother-in-charge, "What about this one, sir," and pointed to Malik. "You don't mean him, do you?"

"No. We're taking him with us."

I shouted, "No. I'm the one who started this. He was just trying to help me. Please. Please don't do that." I felt like a snake. No, lower than a snake.

The white man, Mr. Pierce, continued, "Sir, I'll take the boy into my custody and I assure you this will not happen again. You realize your young men are statistically at risk even more than your young women. Just let us have him. We will help him learn better problem solving and conflict resolution skills. Our program will teach him the importance of taking care of his children. We will even go pick up his children so he can spend quality time with them under our supervision. What do you say?"

"Hmm. Where's the program?" the brother police asked.

"In Fountainhead. Believe me, when we bring these kids back here, no one will recognize them. We plan to transform them into good and honest people -- responsible people."

I thought, Ain't nobody stupid here. I knew this black policeman heard what this white man was really saying. I knew he lived in this neighborhood 'cause I knew one of his kids. He got to know. He really talking 'bout you, too, brother. I waited. This brother was probably gon' take that night stick and knock him in the head. Plus, Malik ain't even got no children.

The brother looked at the white man and smiled. "Okay. You got a deal." He nodded to the two cops holding Malik, and they snipped off his plastic and pushed him forward.

Malik was back to looking down at the floor.

Mr. Pierce put his hand lightly on Malik's shoulder.

Malik jerked away and picked up one of the desks with one hand, turned it up, and sat in it.

I figured me and Malik were the only ones who really knew what the white man was saying 'bout us. And we may have been the only ones who cared. 'Cause now all the other kids was jumping round the white man, asking him, "Is he gon' have good food when we come to his program?"

Me, I ain't asking him shit. I see right now going to Fountainhead ain't about nothing. They sho'nuf be trippin'.

Ms. Hill was busy yelling that we were getting off too easy and she wanted to press charges.

I gathered up my books and walked out the door.

Mr. Bassgate was saying, "Keisha, you ain't getting your grades till your mama comes up here for them. You've got some punishment coming your way, young lady."

I didn't care what he was saying. I left. And, I didn't look back to see if the white man or the police or anybody else was coming after me. All I wanted was to go home to my mama.

On the way home I thought about Malik. I didn't want to. He's just a dumb old boy. I try not to go crazy thinking about boys. It's enough girls thinking 'bout boys without me doing it, too. I got plans. Big plans. And right now ain't no boys in them. But I thought about him, anyway. About him taking up for me like that. Finally, I said to myself, Keisha, he too weird to think about. Then I put him out of my mind.

Mama, she wasn't mad at me after I told her what happened. She don' taught me I got to stand up for myself no matter what. I know some people think black people don't do nothing but fight, shoot, and kill somebody. But that ain't so. I ain't never hit nobody, unless you count my little brother, when my mama ain't home, and he won't mind. Or the one time me and Rhenda went at it. I didn't like it then and I don't like fighting now. I wasn't gonna hit Ms. Hill, that old heifer, as my grandma used to call people like her. But one thing I knew about black women whether they was rich or poor. They don't want nobody messing with their hair even if they don' bought it from a store.

So I already knew if I pulled Ms. Hill's wig off, then she was gon' leave me alone and start that screaming just like she did.

I told Mama the principal said she was gonna have to come to school before I could get my grades. But then they musta thought my mama was gonna raise hell 'cause they called that same evening and said she ain't got to come, they gon' mail the grades home. I didn't care what they was gon' do as long as I got them. I was going to submit my own forms to Avery.

I didn't like the thought of going to the at-risk group, but Mama say, "Girl, it ain't gon' hurt you to try it. You ain't lazing round here all summer, that's for sure. Hey, if life throws you a curve, you better ride it."

Mama so funny. She'll twist some saying around in a hot minute.

Copyright © 2001 by Evelyn Coleman

Read a Sample Chapter

Chapter 3

I grabbed for Ms. Hill and yanked her blouse toward me. A few buttons flew off. I needed to get to her head. My fingers curled around her long, hay-looking hair and I snatched my hand back triumphant. Not only did I have her hair but her brown stocking cap with a knot tied in the end of it. Her hair (her real hair, that is) was in little black plaits sticking up on her head like Eddie Murphy's Buckwheat.

Ms. Hill grabbed her head and screamed like a loony cutting loose in the woods.

I swung her fake hair over my head in a circle and jumped up and down, laughing.

Malik was stomping on top of the desk, laughing so hard, tears was rolling down his face. "Damn," he rapped, "she ain't got no hair hardly at all. She be needing a new hair fall, and man, she be short not tall."

Betty yelled, "And that shit is napppppeeee. God, we thinking she got good hair up in here and look what's under that rag?"

Ms. Hill stumbled, tripped, and raced from the room, yelling for Mr. Bassgate the principal to call the police.

The two white people ain't even moved a muscle. They staring %151; no, glaring at me, all big-eyed like I'm gonna get them next.

I stepped toward them to say, "I'm sorry."

But they threw up their arms to cover their face and head.

They didn't know nothin' 'bout me %151; I ain't gon' hit nobody. And besides, they ain't got no wigs on. I stepped back and didn't say nothing else. What was the use?

I heard Mr. Bassgate running down the hall, swearing like he was in a pool room.

Ms. Hill was barking out stuff like a freaking wild dog right behind him.

The school security guy ran with them through the door.

Mr. Simms, the security guy who's too stupid to even be working near a school let alone in one, grabs my arm. "Girl, you don' don' it now."

I snatched my arm from him and said, "You better take your stinkin' hands off me."

He pulled out a stick and lifted it up like he was gon' hit me.

Malik dived off the desk.

He and Simms crashed to the floor. They rolled around, knocking over desks and cursing at each other.

I didn't move 'cause this wasn't what I wanted to happen. I didn't want no fighting. I attempted to pull them off each other.

Mr. Bassgate grabbed me by the hair and yanked me up.

I screamed and tried to get him off me, but when I was turning around my elbow jabbed him in the face.

He swore loudly and shoved me.

I stumbled forward and hit my mouth on the corner of a chair. Blood shot out like a bullet from a gun and splashed on the white woman's face.

She screamed so loud, everybody just stopped, motionless.

I looked up to see if somehow she'd been shot for real.

She was screaming and jumping up and down.

The white man was patting her shoulder and talking to her soft-like.

Betty was still laughing.

The other kids were hooting like fools.

Sirens screeched in the background while I held my mouth with my hand.

Malik was sitting on Simms now, smoking a cigarette that he wasn't supposed to have in school.

And Ms. Hill, who had picked her wig up off the floor, was still crying like an idiot with it sitting up on her head crooked. Her makeup looked like she belonged on a TV preaching show. You know, the ones where they got all that gold furniture in the back of 'em.

Police rushed through the door as if there was a bank robbery going down. And they grabbed me up like I'd been the one stealing the money.

Two other cops dragged Malik off that ignoramus Simms. They twisted Malik's arm behind his back and made him lay facedown on the floor.

Malik still held his cigarette in his mouth. But now it was crushed 'cause they don' smashed his head hard on the floor two times that I could count.

I was mad for real now 'cause that wasn't necessary, and Malik hadn't really done nothing to deserve it. They tied these plastic things around his wrist and then yanked him up to his feet. Now his face was bloody too.

A policewoman tied the plastic things around my wrists.

Ms. Hill was yelling that they got to take me to jail 'cause I threatened to kill her.

The lying witch.

The white man, who had been acting like he'd only had a bit part in this movie, said to the cops, "Look, this is a misunderstanding. There is no need to take these young people to jail. We're here to help them. They don't understand any other way to resolve conflict." Then, he turned to the police-uniformed brother who seemed to be in charge. "Are you in charge, sir?"

The brother cop said, "Yeah. I'm in charge." Then, like he'd just now figured out that he ought to be proud about it, he stuck out his chest and repeated, "Yeah, man. I'm the one in charge."

"Well sir, I'm attorney Carl Pierce. We're with the Save the Children At-Risk Foundation, SCARF. We came here to help these unfortunate young people, not get them in trouble. So hopefully we can resolve this misunderstanding in a civilized and peaceful manner. We're enrolling your young people in a program that will help them with all their emotional problems. Surely as an African American you can understand that these children have no resources, no values, and no home training and that's why the last thing they need is to be carted off to jail to comingle with more criminals. They need to get out of this neighborhood and see how responsible citizens live. Do you understand what I'm trying to say here?"

"Yes, I do," the brother said. He nodded to his men, and they began snapping off my plastic cuffs.

One of them asked the brother-in-charge, "What about this one, sir," and pointed to Malik. "You don't mean him, do you?"

"No. We're taking him with us."

I shouted, "No. I'm the one who started this. He was just trying to help me. Please. Please don't do that." I felt like a snake. No, lower than a snake.

The white man, Mr. Pierce, continued, "Sir, I'll take the boy into my custody and I assure you this will not happen again. You realize your young men are statistically at risk even more than your young women. Just let us have him. We will help him learn better problem solving and conflict resolution skills. Our program will teach him the importance of taking care of his children. We will even go pick up his children so he can spend quality time with them under our supervision. What do you say?"

"Hmm. Where's the program?" the brother police asked.

"In Fountainhead. Believe me, when we bring these kids back here, no one will recognize them. We plan to transform them into good and honest people %151; responsible people."

I thought, Ain't nobody stupid here. I knew this black policeman heard what this white man was really saying. I knew he lived in this neighborhood 'cause I knew one of his kids. He got to know. He really talking 'bout you, too, brother. I waited. This brother was probably gon' take that night stick and knock him in the head. Plus, Malik ain't even got no children.

The brother looked at the white man and smiled. "Okay. You got a deal." He nodded to the two cops holding Malik, and they snipped off his plastic and pushed him forward.

Malik was back to looking down at the floor.

Mr. Pierce put his hand lightly on Malik's shoulder.

Malik jerked away and picked up one of the desks with one hand, turned it up, and sat in it.

I figured me and Malik were the only ones who really knew what the white man was saying 'bout us. And we may have been the only ones who cared. 'Cause now all the other kids was jumping round the white man, asking him, "Is he gon' have good food when we come to his program?"

Me, I ain't asking him shit. I see right now going to Fountainhead ain't about nothing. They sho'nuf be trippin'.

Ms. Hill was busy yelling that we were getting off too easy and she wanted to press charges.

I gathered up my books and walked out the door.

Mr. Bassgate was saying, "Keisha, you ain't getting your grades till your mama comes up here for them. You've got some punishment coming your way, young lady."

I didn't care what he was saying. I left. And, I didn't look back to see if the white man or the police or anybody else was coming after me. All I wanted was to go home to my mama.

On the way home I thought about Malik. I didn't want to. He's just a dumb old boy. I try not to go crazy thinking about boys. It's enough girls thinking 'bout boys without me doing it, too. I got plans. Big plans. And right now ain't no boys in them. But I thought about him, anyway. About him taking up for me like that. Finally, I said to myself, Keisha, he too weird to think about. Then I put him out of my mind.

Mama, she wasn't mad at me after I told her what happened. She don' taught me I got to stand up for myself no matter what. I know some people think black people don't do nothing but fight, shoot, and kill somebody. But that ain't so. I ain't never hit nobody, unless you count my little brother, when my mama ain't home, and he won't mind. Or the one time me and Rhenda went at it. I didn't like it then and I don't like fighting now. I wasn't gonna hit Ms. Hill, that old heifer, as my grandma used to call people like her. But one thing I knew about black women whether they was rich or poor. They don't want nobody messing with their hair even if they don' bought it from a store.

So I already knew if I pulled Ms. Hill's wig off, then she was gon' leave me alone and start that screaming just like she did.

I told Mama the principal said she was gonna have to come to school before I could get my grades. But then they musta thought my mama was gonna raise hell 'cause they called that same evening and said she ain't got to come, they gon' mail the grades home. I didn't care what they was gon' do as long as I got them. I was going to submit my own forms to Avery.

I didn't like the thought of going to the at-risk group, but Mama say, "Girl, it ain't gon' hurt you to try it. You ain't lazing round here all summer, that's for sure. Hey, if life throws you a curve, you better ride it."

Mama so funny. She'll twist some saying around in a hot minute.

Copyright © 2001 by Evelyn Coleman