“But not for a guy. You’re just trying to impress Tye.”
“And Toya was just trying to make a fool of me—which she clearly succeeded at. Are you going to talk with her too? Do you even care that she humiliated me by calling me up to the stage, knowing I am not a part of Inspire Harlem? I swear, you are loyal to everyone but your family.”
“Are you serious right now?” Imani gets up from my bed. The mattress shifts, then settles again. “I share my mom and dad with you, and you think I’m not loyal to our family?” Imani walks to the door. She is crying, I think. It is too dark to see her sadness, but I hear her tears. She leaves my room. I get out of bed, follow her.
It is dark in the hallway too. Dark and familiar because I never turn the hall light on when I get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. “Imani, wait,” I call into the night. “Today was all about loving the Earth and loving your neighbor. Well, what about loving your family?” I think about what Grandma and her friends said about being so busy you can forget what’s important. “You’re out there doing all this work for the community so much you’re not even here for the people who care about you. When is the last time you saw Grandma? Aunt Ebony and Uncle Randy hardly see you.” I head back to my room, but before I go in, I turn and say, “I might not know all the social justice quotes and I might not be the world’s greatest teen activist, but I am here for my family. And I’m proud of that.”
Imani’s door slams. I didn’t even see her move.
3 QUOTES TO LIVE BY (AKA: THE QUOTES THAT HANG ON IMANI’S BEDROOM WALL THAT I SHOULD HAVE PAID MORE ATTENTION TO)
1.Choose people who will lift you up. Find people who will make you better. —Michelle Obama
2.Nobody’s free until everybody’s free. —Fannie Lou Hamer
3.Revolution is not a one-time event. —Audre Lorde
14
The next morning Aunt Ebony has made Uncle Randy’s favorite breakfast—corned beef with onions and bell peppers and hash browns with a sunny-side-up egg on top. We hardly ever have breakfast together. During the school year we are all rushing out and grabbing the quickest thing available, which is usually a granola bar. But today, Aunt Ebony has called us downstairs to eat, not caring if we were awake or not, if we are hungry or not.
When we get to the table, I am sure Uncle Randy and Aunt Ebony feel the tension between me and Imani. I try not to make it too obvious, but I can’t pretend that I am still not frustrated. For the first few minutes at the table, the only sound is the clanking of forks against plates and the occasional slurp of pineapple juice. I see Uncle Randy raise his eyebrows to Aunt Ebony, as if to ask, did I miss something? He wipes his mouth, says, “Have you two started on your college applications? I know it’s summer, but the application deadline for early decision will be here before you know it.”
Imani says, “I’ve been working on my personal essay all week, and I’ve already asked two teachers for letters of recommendation.”
Of course Imani is ready.
She has two schools as her top choices. I am unsure, but I would never admit that. I nod and say, “Me too. I’m almost done with my essay.” I am getting really good at lying. I don’t understand what the rush is. Why can’t I just apply for the regular deadline? Who cares about early decision?
Imani does.
I try to eat as fast as I can so that I don’t have to lie anymore. I am going over to Grandma’s. I get up from the table, put my plate and silverware in the dishwasher. “Thanks for breakfast,” I say.
“You’re welcome,” Aunt Ebony says. She looks at me with a question mark on her face, asking me with her eyes if I’m all right. I give a half-hearted smile. The doorbell rings and Imani goes to answer. Then I hear her calling my name, “Nala, Tye is here.”
Tye is here?
I go to the front of the house and see Tye standing on the stoop. When Imani sees me, she comes back into the house and I feel her look of disapproval when she walks past me.
Tye and I sit on the stoop talking and people watching. At first, it’s all awkward small talk about how it’s not too hot today, and then Tye gets to the reason of why he came. “I have a gift for you,” he says.
“A gift?” I can’t help but smile, and my heart flutters a bit. He knows how embarrassing yesterday was, so he stopped by to check on me. Tye is so thoughtful, and already I am thinking of something to get him as a thank-you.
Tye goes into his backpack and pulls out a wrapped gift. It is square and kind of heavy. I want to rip it open fast, like I usually do my Christmas presents, but I don’t want to seem too anxious. I carefully open it, and when I realize what it is, I’m not sure how to respond. “Thanks—wow. A book of quotes.” I hope my fake thank-you voice sounds grateful.
“I know that was a lot yesterday and you weren’t prepared to speak, so I wanted to give you this so that the next time you have to make a speech, you can have some inspiration.”
I won’t ever be making a speech again. I’m not a speech-making person.
Tye is so proud of his gift he takes it from me and opens it. “Look, there are quotes from James Baldwin, Paul Robeson, Fannie Lou Hamer . . . I got this at the Schomburg Center at their gift shop.”
“Thank you,” I say again. Because what else can I say?
“I was thinking maybe we can go through this and find some quotes to type and blow up so we can hang them next to the photos for your photo legacy project. It would be nice to create an atmosphere in the space where you’re doing the gallery.”
“This is . . . this . . . thank you.” That really is all I can say.
Tye is perfectly content to sit out here and look through this book of quotes all day, but I am not. I tell him I need to get to work and that I have to go. “I can walk with you,” he says.
“Oh, okay, thanks.” I make sure Aunt Ebony knows I am leaving, and then Tye and I walk to Grandma’s. On the way he is going on about the quotes, then about how many other treasures he found at the Schomburg’s gift shop and how he wants to get his mom something. I am half listening because I am trying to sort through my thoughts, trying to figure out how it is that the same characteristics that make Tye so attractive also make him frustrating. I love that he is passionate, thoughtful, that he’s so respectful and just outright nice, but sometimes that passion and thoughtfulness is a bit clueless and can feel condescending.
We are walking on 145th Street, and when we turn onto Edgecombe, Tye says, “You’re quiet.”
“Just thinking,” I say.
“About what?” About us. “Nothing,” I say. “Just, um, just thinking about what I’m going to do at work today.” Really, I am thinking about the things Imani said to me about dating Tye. I know that the only way to prove Imani wrong is to stop pretending and start actually being the person Tye thinks I am. I don’t want to be a hypocrite, and I actually do think the photo project is a good idea. Instead of lying about it, I should try to do it. And maybe I can even ask to be an official volunteer. This isn’t about trying to impress Tye anymore. I really want to do it. “I’m going to start planning the photo legacy project today,” I tell Tye. “Officially.”