This Is My America(2)
“You got this.” Angela hands Jamal a sheet of paper. “Here are the questions Susan’s asked the other guests.”
“Thanks, Ang.”
All the other interviews have the common thread of compelling American stories: a boy who battled cancer; an almost career-ending torn ACL; a girl hiding her gender at football tryouts. Each story a tearjerker. I’m hard pressed to believe that they’d leave out what’s at the heart of Jamal’s dedication. What he’s had to overcome.
I glance over Jamal’s shoulder and skim the questions, looking for my window of opportunity.
“Tracy,” Mama says. “Give your brother space.”
Hater. I step closer to Mama.
Angela goes over a few pointers. Before I can ear hustle more, Angela’s boyfriend, Chris Brighton, enters with a large box of doughnuts that appear tiny in his hands. Chris is still built out from football season, his strawberry-blond hair tucked under a Texas A&M hat with his jersey number, 27, stitched on the side. He’ll be playing there next year. Just like at school, he barely acknowledges us.
“Excuse me.” Angela goes to meet Chris, and I catch her mouthing, What are you doing here?
Chris places the box of doughnuts on the table. Angela touches his arm, like she’s trying to be sweet, but by the way her mouth is turned down, it’s obvious that she’s irritated at him messing up her work flow.
“Can I have one?” Corinne asks, ogling the doughnuts.
Mama agrees, and Corinne tiptoes past Angela. When she reaches in, the box slips.
“Watch it,” Chris snaps, catching the box. His square jaw is tight, like he can flick Corinne away with a nasty glare.
Jamal jumps up. Chris’s ears get red as Angela shushes him, pointing to the red flashing ON AIR sign.
Sorry, Corinne mouths, then takes a bite.
Jamal joins us, his arm now around Corinne, who’s dressed in a striped yellow church dress. I chose a simple black A-line dress. My hair in an updo, sleek edges, and curls all out like a crown was placed on top of my head.
The camera cuts away from Susan, and they play a video of the four athletes they’ve spotlighted in May.
“It’s starting.” Corinne nudges Jamal before clapping like there’s a live audience. Crumbs flying everywhere.
Jamal chuckles and joins in with Corinne. I can’t help but let a smile slip, and I clap softly because Jamal deserves this.
The last of the footage includes Jamal’s records rolling up the screen. He’s compared to competitive world athletes with Olympic gold medals. Then they show Jamal’s last track meet of the season, where he beat the boys’ high school track record, tying the long-standing 1996 college record. I feel like I’m there again. The crowd cheered so loud it shook the bleachers. You knew something special was about to happen. Jamal dropped to his knees when the scoreboard confirmed the new record.
“You know what you gonna say?” Corinne asks.
“Do I know what I’m gonna say?” Jamal bends down to Corinne so he can whisper. “You got advice for me, baby sis?”
“Don’t say ummm.”
I burst out a laugh, then cover my mouth when Mama nudges me.
“That all you got?”
“You say ummm a lot when you’re nervous.” Corinne shrugs and takes Mama’s hand.
“You hear her, Tracy?” Jamal elbows me. “I don’t say ummm a lot.”
“You kinda do.” I smirk.
“Yoooo. You wrong for saying that right before my interview. You know what’s gonna be stuck in my head now, right?”
“Yip,” I say. “Ummmm.”
“Ummmm,” Corinne joins in. We sound like a chorus at the side of the stage.
“Knock it off now, girls.” Mama wags her finger at us.
Angela cuts between us, gesturing for Jamal to follow her onto the studio’s stage while we take a seat offstage. Jamal gives her a wink when she wishes him good luck. Her cheeks go pink. He can always make someone feel special. Daddy says he’s got a heart of gold. I just wish he wouldn’t throw it around so easily.
I watch Chris in the shadows. White privilege at its finest. Today he’s exhibiting classic toxic masculinity. I can tell Angela doesn’t want him here, but he’s too arrogant to think different. He acts that way in school, too, like he could get away with anything, since his dad is sheriff.
Poised and ready, Susan Touric faces the camera marked NBS ONE. She looks like all the white newscasters they have at this station except the rotating weather girls of color. Susan’s dressed in a white blouse and a gaudy necklace of choice for the day. Her silky black hair is coiffed in a bob around her fake-tanned skin, and pink lipstick matches the color of her glasses.
The crew shifts into movement. The spotlight zooms in. The producer gives her a hand signal near the teleprompter. A green light blinks, and Susan plasters on a smile. On cue, the music begins. My heart now beats at a rapid pace.
“Reporting live here at NBS World News. If you’re just tuning in, we’ve been highlighting top scholar athletes across the country. I have the pleasure of introducing a local star: the number one track athlete in the state of Texas, soon to be high school grad, Jamal Beaumont.”
Jamal’s dark brown skin shines as he flashes a wide smile. He sits lean and tall in a closely tailored dark blue suit, white shirt, and red tie he saved up for so Mama wouldn’t worry about the cost.