Beyond the Point(18)
“‘Duty, honor, country. Those three hallowed words reverently dictate what you ought to be, what you can be, and what you will be.’” She paused, then stared Wilkerson in the eyes. “‘They are your rallying points: to build courage when courage seems to fail; to regain faith when there seems to be little cause for faith; to create hope when hope becomes forlorn.’”
When she finished, Dani held her breath. Wilkerson stood in front of her with a look of shock and admiration on his face. He raised his eyebrows.
“Wow,” he said. “Nice job, McNalley. Not to sound racist, but normally black kids can’t memorize shit.”
Dani bit her cheeks harder than she ever had before, the tinny taste of blood spreading across her tongue. Later, she would cycle through all the things she wished she’d said to him—What, so you’ve met all black kids? or better, And what about you, Wilkerson, how’d you do with plebe knowledge?
But plebes were only allowed to speak one of four responses. So Dani lifted her chin, set her jaw, and chose the only one that applied.
“Sir, I do not understand.”
Wilkerson offered her a half smile. “You did good. I’m giving you a compliment.”
Dani’s body went hot with rage. Most often, racism was expressed in small, imperceptible movements of distrust: in glances, in grabbing purses tighter, in moving to the other side of the street. Rarely was she confronted with a blatant admission that someone assumed she would be less capable, simply because of the color of her skin. She seethed. But thankfully, before she could react, the upperclassman moved on.
“I can’t believe he said that,” Tim said. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Dani answered firmly. “I’m fine.”
Once again, she knew she couldn’t complain. Not about her pain. Not about what Wilkerson had said. The look on Tim’s face was one of compassion and sadness. He obviously understood that there was a lot she wasn’t saying. But there was no use in dwelling on Wilkerson’s ignorance. She remembered the words her mother had spoken once when she was younger: “They’re ignorant, Dani. So they think you’re different? They’re right! You are different. You’re better.”
“I think I’m ready to shoot again,” she said with confidence.
“I should say so.” Tim handed her back the weapon. “Let’s go, soldier.”
Dani found her spot on the ground and shot the target straight in the center three times in a row. This time, with her eyes wide open.
5
Fall 2000 // West Point, New York
Twelve thirty on a misty afternoon in early September, four thousand cadets gathered in the mess hall, eating pierogies and passing plates of lemon-pepper chicken counterclockwise around the tables. Avery Adams rolled her head from side to side, trying to work out the tension that had appeared overnight. Plebes weren’t allowed to speak at meals, and since they only had fifteen minutes to jam food into their mouths before jetting off to classes, everyone kept their head down, stuffing their face as quickly as possible. It was disgusting. Like they were a bunch of farm animals at a trough.
In August, all of the new cadets that had survived basic training had put on their as-for-class uniforms and joined the Corps of Cadets for the regular academic year. Training would commence again next summer, but until then, they were students. Writing assignments replaced weaponry. Homework took over hazing as the heaviest burden, and every weekend, the campus came alive with school spirit for the Army football team, which still hadn’t won a game. Avery dreaded the uphill walk to Michie Stadium, where she was forced to stand and freeze while the quarterback threw interceptions for two hours straight. Games were mandatory fun, and she hated every second.
Avery caught herself staring at the bespectacled cadet seated in front of her, whose face was as pale as the white uniform shirt he was wearing. He ate so fast, it was a wonder he had time to breathe. Shaking her head in disgust, she looked back down at her plate and sighed.
Six months ago, she’d screamed and celebrated, having received her acceptance letter. The summer had introduced her to camouflage, ruck marching, orienteering through the woods, and the joys of memorizing useless trivia. Thanks to all the running her father had forced her to do leading up to R-Day, she’d quickly risen to the top of her platoon, scoring the highest possible marks on the Army Physical Fitness Test. In separate two-minute drills she could complete seventy-five push-ups and a hundred sit-ups. And when they sent her off for the two-mile run, Avery always returned within thirteen minutes flat. She hadn’t just met West Point’s standards; she’d exceeded them.
The guys in her platoon had wavered between seeming annoyed that a girl had outperformed them and grateful to have her strength among their ranks. Avery had seen some of the other girls in other platoons. There were the butch ones, who’d cut their hair into pixie-like styles before R-Day to prove that they were serious. Then there were the unathletic ones, who failed to keep up with the guys and so immediately lost their respect. Girls who were pretty and athletic were the fewest and farthest between. For that reason, Avery knew that her stock was high, and the attention gave her a rush. Every sideways glance, every prohibited flirtation, helped her breathe just a little bit easier. She was wanted, and that made her feel powerful.
Of course, she couldn’t fully savor the extra attention. West Point followed a strict “ninety-degree” rule—if two people of the opposite sex were in a room together, the door had to be open at a ninety-degree angle. It was so antiquated, so ridiculous, and yet, everyone seemed to follow the rule with religious precision. If a male and female cadet were found together with the door closed, it could mean long hours of walking back and forth along cadet area in full regalia. Marching tours were West Point’s favorite mode of punishment. Her TAC had explained that the rules existed to keep them focused on their academic and military instruction. To Avery, it all felt like a waste of her college experience.