Watch Us Rise(19)

“Sorry, Isaac, I have to get this.” I answer the phone and barely get hello out.

“Jasmine, your dad was rushed to the hospital. Not sure yet what’s wrong.” She is talking loud, raising her voice above the traffic and noise around her.

“Where are you?”

“I’m driving. On my way to the hospital. He went in an ambulance. Mount Sinai.”

“Where’s Jason?”

“With me.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“All right, okay.” Mom hangs up before I can say goodbye.

I stand up, put my coat on. “I have to go,” I tell Isaac.

“Your dad?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m so sorry, Jasmine. Of all the days.” He hugs me, holds me long enough to soften my stubborn tears. They fall quick, seep into his sweater.

I pull away—pull the sadness back in so that by the time I get to the hospital my eyes won’t be red. Jason will cry if he sees me crying. I zip my coat. “Tell Chelsea for me, okay? I’ll text you all tonight with an update.” That’s our routine. Every time Dad is in the hospital, I send a group text letting them know what’s going on.

Once I’m on the train, I take my notebook out and start thinking up ideas for our new club. Something where all the parts of me are respected and honored. A place where Chelsea can write the poems she’s passionate about, a place where I can perform roles beyond what is already imagined for girls like me. A club where students actually have a voice. A space where we can make good on what this school promises to be.





Ms. Lucas, a club consists of three or more people, so as long as you are here, and at least two of us, then we are considered an official club,” I say, repeating the line Ms. Hawkins used to keep the poetry club alive for so long. After Jasmine quit the August Wilson Acting Ensemble, we devised a new plan to start our own women’s rights club, figuring that even if it was just the two of us, they’d have to agree based on the rules of three’s a club. At least, we hoped that was true, and not just some nonsense that Ms. Hawkins made up.

“This is true,” Ms. Lucas says. It’s the end of the day, and she is cleaning up her classroom, straightening rows of desks, and sorting piles and piles of paper.

“And you are not currently an advisor to any other club,” I say, having already done some research on who best would fit as the advisor for our new club.

“Not exactly, but I do look over all the clubs and work as the coordinator, so I’m definitely still involved,” she says, then stops, leans on one of the desks, and looks at me and Jasmine, who have interrupted her at the end of the day. “What is it you’re looking to do?”

“We want to start our own club—a women’s rights club. A group that is dedicated to writing and creating work that supports women’s ideas. Our club will write poems, monologues, scenes. We’ll write essays and opinion pieces all about women, and get our thoughts and feelings out and into the world,” I say, realizing I’ve been needing this for a long while.

“Oh,” Ms. Lucas says, paying closer attention.

“Right now, the world is so focused on women—debating the issues of reproductive rights, paid maternity leave, women getting paid less than men, sexual discrimination issues, harassment, I could go on and on—and it feels like everyone outside of Amsterdam Heights is taking it very seriously, but here, it’s like we think the work is done . . . but it’s not,” Jasmine finishes.

“Well, those are excellent reasons to start a club. I commend you for thinking of this and pushing through with it, but you two are already in clubs that you love, right? I’ve seen you both on stage for talent night reading poetry and performing. Why would you want to leave your clubs?”

Jasmine looks at me, as if to say you go first, so I do. “Well, we have both had some issues with our clubs.”

“Oh, why is that?” Ms. Lucas asks.

“Just your average institutional racism and misogynistic attitudes about women and people of color, so—”

“Uh, well, what Chelsea is trying to say,” Jasmine interrupts, giving me the look that says stop talking, “is that we have a different vision of what the clubs can be. We want something that’s more in line with our ideas about women’s roles and how we see ourselves in the media. We want to talk about issues that matter to us, and we need a space to do it.”

I nod my head, understanding that complaining about our current advisors is probably not the best way to win over a future advisor. Also realizing that I should probably always let Jasmine do the talking. “And even though we both love poetry and theater, we weren’t getting the support for the kind of creative and activist work we wanted to do.”

“If you’d like to talk about this more, we could work with your advisors and come up with a plan. I would hate for you both to miss out on a solid, already-established club experience. You know, I’ve always thought that clubs are one of the best parts of Amsterdam Heights, and it’s tough to get one up and running, even with all your passion,” Ms. Lucas says. I can’t tell if she’s trying to get us back into our clubs because she really wants to fix things, or if she just wants us to leave her classroom.

“No thank you, Ms. Lucas. The club situations we were in will not work for us this year,” Jasmine states. “We want to start a new club. We would love for you to support our vision and be our advisor.”