Ace of Spades Sneak Peek(44)

I sigh, turning away a little. “What?”

“Are there any other Black people at your school?”

I suspect his question is more rhetorical than not, but I still shake my head.

“So, you go to a white school, in the white part of town, where bad things are happening to the only Black students…,” he starts, like he’s decoding a really complex math problem.

I want to interject and debunk his theory, but I can’t bring myself to speak. I shiver as a gust of wind blows my way.

“I think it’s racism.” Terrell looks at me straight.

“Not all of them are bad, Terrell.” And it’s true. I may not be friends with any of the Niveus students, but most of them have been nice enough over the years.

He climbs off his bike and takes a seat on the swing next to me.

“Name three good people there, and I don’t mean decent, I mean really good.”

I’m not that social, so my circle really only ever included myself and Jack at school. Besides him, everyone else is okay—decent. Good. No, everyone else is good.

“My music teacher—Mr. Taylor, Jack, and this guy Daniel.”

“Jack, as in the friend who abandoned you?”

I forgot I texted Terrell about that.

“He’s from around our area, has a family to think about. He’s just protecting himself while all those texts come out. They can hurt him too.” And I’ve known Jack practically my entire life. If he was racist, why would he be my friend or pretend to care about me? It doesn’t make any sense.

Terrell smiles at that. “I sense that it has nothing to do with his family.”

What does he mean by that?

“Who’s Daniel?” he continues, like he’s not convinced by what I’m saying.

“This popular guy at school; he’s weird and annoying, but nice, I guess.”

“And Mr. Taylor?”

I’m confident in him as an example of a good white person I know.

“He’s the best music teacher I’ve ever had. Lets me stay in the practice room all day making music, and he really wants me to get into Juilliard.”

“Does he, now?” Terrell asks, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah.”

He nods. “Okay, fair enough.”

“You sound like you don’t believe it.”

He shrugs, nudging me. “I don’t trust white people like you do. I obviously don’t think they are all murderers, but I think they are all racist.”

“All?” I say, eyebrows raised.

“It sounds wild, I know, but racism is a spectrum and they all participate in it in some way. They don’t all have white hoods or call us mean things; I know that. But racism isn’t just about that—it’s not about being nice or mean. Or good versus bad. It’s bigger than that. We’re all in this bubble being affected by the past. The moment they decided they got to be white and have all the power and we got to be Black and be at the bottom, everything changed. If we can’t talk about it honestly, and I mean really talk about it, then what’s the point? I read some Malcom X last year, and I agree with him. Some might even treat you good, like an owner might treat a pet.”

“That’s wild,” I say.

“Yeah, it is. I think anyone can be nice, but it’s not about being nice. You can’t escape a history like that and not be affected. Us Blacks, we start hating ourselves, and them whites start thinking they’re all better than us. Even if they aren’t thinking it constantly, it’s in there somewhere.”

I find myself smiling a little. He looks like one of those eccentric scientists after they explain a theory. His hair is wild too, sticking up in all directions. I don’t know if I fully agree with him. I don’t know if I want to fully agree with him. It’s a sad way to look at things.

“You sound like someone who should go to college,” I tell him. He looks like he’d major in politics or some other social science, writing articles and pissing people off whenever he speaks.

“World’s not ideal,” he reminds me.

“And if it was?” I ask, turning on the swing to look at him now.

“If it was, a lot of shit would be different.” He looks at me. “I might go to college, major in business or something. I might do well and get out of here. I might do dangerous things like kiss boys I like and do all the things I’ve always wanted to do. But the world isn’t ideal, so why poison my mind with thoughts that won’t make a difference?”

I get that. Dreaming can be dangerous. It’s hard to dream in a neighborhood like ours. Ma always told me to dream, though, that the sky was my limit. I’m scared to dream too high, in case I end up falling flat on my face. But I still do it.

It hurts to dream, but I dream regardless.

Ma has tried to create this ideal world for me. Despite my scholarship, she’s still spending so much on this school, hoping a good college takes a chance on me. But what if none of that happens? What if I fail? Or get expelled? What if Aces ruins everything?

What if I just get stuck here, disappointing her, wasting her time and money, for nothing?

Terrell’s hands are on my shoulders, and then they wrap around me as I try to breathe.

“S-sorry, was just overthinking … Worried about my ma and everything,” I say, wiping my eyes.