Pride(34)

As we walk through the campus, I get to feel what it’s like to be in college, to be in a place where new ideas and people will reveal themselves to me every single day. And not just any college—a historically black college, one of the first in this country. I wonder what the girls who’ve slept in my future dorm room over the years are doing with their lives right now. I wonder if they’ve gone back to their blocks or their towns and changed them in any way. I wonder if Howard changed them, and maybe they couldn’t go back to their old hoods because they’ve grown too big, too tall. Not in size, but in . . . experience. In . . . feeling. I wonder how I’ll change too.

After about a half hour of touring the lower and upper quads, some of the dorms, and the Cramton Auditorium, it’s time to sit in on a lecture by one of Howard’s professors.

As we finish our tour, some cute guys from across the yard call out, “H-U!”

Sage and Diane respond, “You know!”

Me and the other kids on the tour laugh and look around at each other.

“Y’all don’t get to say that until you get accepted,” Diane says.

But I whisper, “You know!” under my breath anyway as a sort of prayer.

We’re back in the Administration Building, where Diane and Sage pull out another clipboard for us to sign up for a lecture. Fewer kids add their names for this one. Good. Less competition.

The lecture is on African American history, and the professor is someone I’ve read about online. Other high school students are here too. Not the ones who were on the tour. Suddenly my stomach is in knots. This is my competition. I look at my future classmates as we all walk through the campus yard toward Cramton Auditorium, where current Howard students will talk to us before Professor Kenyatta Bello starts her lecture. I wonder which of these kids I can rock with, and which ones I’ll learn to stay away from.

We all spill into the giant auditorium, where there’s a huge stage and screen in the front. Janae told me that some classes are held in auditoriums like this, and I’ll have to always sit in the front to get the professors’ attention. I do just that so I can be seen, noticed, and heard.

But other kids have the same bright idea, and the first few rows close to the stage are almost full. There’s one last empty seat at the other end of the stage, and I head straight for it. This is musical chairs, and I’m trying to stay in the game.

But a girl places her hand on the seat’s armrest, looks dead at me, and says, “Are you with Alpha Kappa Alpha?”

“Who?” I ask.

“The AKA scholarship group? These seats are reserved for them,” she says with an even brighter smile.

“Oh” is all I say, even though I want to know what an AKA is and how I can get into their scholarship group. But I decide that girl doesn’t need to know that—I can look it up online later.

A tall girl with flowing hair and a pink blazer walks over to the seat that should’ve been mine and sits down. I look around at the first few rows and notice that everyone’s already teamed up. They’re talking to each other and laughing, and I wish that I had brought one of my sisters with me. But still, I grab a seat near the back and stay focused. I didn’t come here to make friends.

The first part of the session begins. I listen to every word those Howard students say about the different majors and clubs and activities the school has to offer. I hear about their newspaper, the Hilltop, and their literary journal, Amistad. I’m at the edge of my seat, and my heart feels like it’s about to leap out of my chest from excitement. If only I could skip my senior year at Bushwick and move in, like, next week.

Sage joins the students on the stage to take questions from the audience. “Now keep your questions to just questions,” she says into the mic. “No comments or reciting your application essay.”

The audience laughs, but I don’t. I’d be the one to recite my essay as a spoken-word piece if it would increase my chances of getting in.

I keep raising my hand, but Sage doesn’t call on me. So I stand up and raise my hand high. I hear whispers around me, but I don’t care.

“Yes,” Sage says, finally noticing me. “With the afro.”

A girl standing in the aisle with a mic passes it over to me. As soon as I take it, my stomach sinks, but I swallow back my fear. “Hi,” I say, clearing my throat. “How can I get a scholarship to Howard?”

Everybody shifts in their seat, and some even giggle. My voice echoes, and my whole body goes warm. Still, I hold my head high and wait for an answer as the girl takes the mic away.

“Howard University reviews applications on a case-by-case basis. You can ask your guidance counselor for help. We look forward to hearing from you,” one of the students on the stage responds.

It’s an answer I already knew, but I sit back down and tell myself that I won’t stop asking questions until I get in. I don’t care how I look.

When Professor Bello begins her lecture, I take out my notebook to write down everything she says. Her words fill my ears, the students fill my eyes, and I have the overwhelming sense that I belong here. I imagine myself in this place, getting dressed for class, walking with my new friends to the dining hall, joining the poetry club. I sigh big and feel my body swell with hope about this new beginning. The professor keeps talking and I keep dreaming and I begin to write a letter to the founder.