This Is My America(13)

“Okay, enough. What was that look you were giving Dean, anyways? Why you want him rushing off?”

“I was in the bathroom and overheard Natalie Hanes is vying for your editor spot.”

“What? She barely has a feature. What makes her think she’s even got a chance?”

“Girl, I don’t know. She was talking about you not being a team player. She’s going to talk to Mr. Kaine, then work them votes against you. She feel she’s got Angela in the bag because you hijacked The Susan Touric Show, and Angela’s pissed.”

“Damn! Angela shouldn’t even get a vote, since she’s graduating. It should be up to this year’s juniors.” Angela will have influence, though; I’ve got to talk to her. She works with Mr. Kaine in the morning for internship credit. He’s the one who wrote her letter of recommendation to Susan Touric. I’m hoping to get one from him, too.



“Thanks, Tasha. I gotta talk to Angela.”

I weave my way down the hall, skipping my own class and going straight to the newsroom, which is just a repurposed classroom with desks set up into stations.

Angela and Chris are in heated debate. His boys, Scott and Justin, are crowded together watching them argue. I know Scott from the track team; he’s a long-distance runner. Used to be a sprinter but wasn’t fast enough. He’s tall and lanky with light brown hair; his neck would blanch in pink-and-white blotches when he’d run. I couldn’t stand him because he was always whining about Coach not being fair by taking him off sprinting and putting him on long distance. Said Coach was being racist against him. Never mind Dean runs the four hundred. But Texas be like that. Chris, Scott, and Justin, always a trio sticking together and not having any nonwhite friends.

I wait until they stop arguing. Chris hugs and kisses Angela. Her response is blank. Like she didn’t want him touching her. Chris doesn’t seem to notice, just takes off with the guys as the bell rings.

I step into the classroom, catching Angela by surprise.

“Mr. Kaine’s out this morning.” Angela shoves her heart-covered cell phone into her bag.

“I came to talk to you.”



“Listen, whatever happened is over. You should talk to your brother about the interview.”

“He won’t talk to me.”

“Well, I can see why. You ruined his interview.” She loops her blond hair behind her ear. “Your approach needs work. I tried to tell you, but you blew me off last staff meeting.”

“You wouldn’t get it.” I shake my head. “No one listens to me. You’re all a clique on the newspaper.”

“We’re not a clique. You just don’t try hard enough to get along.”

“I don’t try hard enough?” I put my hand up. “What can I talk about when bonding time equals talking about lavish vacations, brand-new cars for birthday gifts, all things Starbucks? And music? Have we ever tried to listen to a Black radio station? Don’t even get me started on television references to reruns of Friends and Gossip Girl.”

What I don’t say is it’s the talk about the weekends that shuts me out. Mine are filled with prison visits, church, and me babysitting Corinne while Mama and Jamal work.

Angela’s face softens, but she says, “And that has what to do with Jamal’s interview?”

“I work just as hard as everyone does.”

“I never said you don’t work hard,” Angela says. “I said adjust your approach.”

“That’s why I came to talk to you.” I’m tired of explaining to her, so I switch subjects. “I want to be editor next year so I can change things. Make it more inclusive. There’s nobody of color who works on the paper except me and Rosa. That’s a problem.”



“What can I do about you getting the editor role?”

“I’ve worked hard for this. It hasn’t been easy. I’m trying to make the paper something that matters, make an impact. Be real journalists. If Natalie gets the position as editor, we’ll go backward, and I’ll lose ‘Tracy’s Corner.’ Stuck writing about graffiti behind the school or cafeteria exposés. I want to write about real stuff.”

I play up the fact that Angela takes her work seriously. She has always pushed Mr. Kaine to have our stories be meaningful. When “Tracy’s Corner” was up for debate, I wanted to solidify it as a social justice corner, and Angela gave me a vote. Even said my articles about my dad’s case were important. That she learned about her rights with police through my write-ups.

Angela sits down, runs her hands through her blond curls, then ties them up and puts on her glasses. She never wears them outside the newsroom.

“I’m not going to block you, Tracy. But Natalie has some truth to what she’s saying. You aren’t a team player.”

“That’s not—”

“I get why you don’t fit in. Everyone’s got their own interests. But you don’t even give people a chance to try it their own way, because you can’t trust them. If you want to be editor, you have to work with everybody—even if you don’t like them.”

“They don’t like me.”



“Not everyone likes me.”

I scowl. Everybody on the paper likes Angela. Hell, she was homecoming queen.