Watch Us Rise(22)

Let me repeat: I will not “act like a black girl.” Not unless she is nuanced. Not unless she is imagined to be more than tired tropes and predictable clichés.

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terryann liked this

bluesky liked this

bluesky reblogged this from tonyavwells

bluesky commented: I can totally relate.

hannahbee commented: This also applies to books & movies. I am Puerto Rican and so tired of seeing us portrayed as maids or oversexed vixens.

artandstuff commented: Awesome post!

artandstuff reblogged this

girlsandghosts commented: That theater teacher sucks! Hope he/she reads this.

girlsandghosts liked this

rodneyharvey commented: Wow. Had no idea there were actual names for this. Thanks for sharing.

rodneyharvey liked this

tonyavwells reblogged this

tonyavwells commented: yaaaassss!

harlemchick commented: OMG. This needs to be reblogged a million times!

harlemchick reblogged this

brownpoet commented: something similar happened at my school. Except it came from a “friend” not a teacher. I thought maybe I was being too sensitive, but this proves that I was not. Thank you.

rollerderbygirl reblogged this from girlsonly

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websteravenue liked this

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herheights commented: YES!

mixedbag reblogged this

blackdreamer212 liked this girlsonly reblogged this

girlsonly commented: I am sorry this happened to you. I wish this was the first time I heard something like this but unfortunately I’ve experienced it and so have other black actors I know. We have to do something.

gweber liked this

gweber commented: This IS doing something.

sunshineandrain commented: So tired of stereotypes in books, film, and theater about ALL people from marginalized groups!! Thank you for speaking up.

gweber commented: I hate the term “marginalized” but I feel you sunshineandrain!

firegirl reblogged this

writelikeagirl commented: Thanks for your feedback. Keep checking back! More posts coming soon.





Whoa,” I say, opening my computer and pulling up our blog site. “Do you understand what a big deal this is, Jasmine? I mean, you posted this last night, and we each posted about it on social media—but . . . ?we’ve had more than a hundred visits to our blog site.” We are at school early, waiting for Ms. Lucas to arrive and open her classroom so we can work on the blog and create a schedule of posts.

“Chels, can we focus? What are you saying?” Jasmine says, sitting down next to me and eyeing our metrics page.

“What I’m saying is that you posted this at 9:07 p.m. and this morning when I checked the stats, just because I was curious to see if anyone even noticed we had a new club and blog, our site had been visited more than a hundred times, and look—every time I refresh, the number goes up.” I refresh again, and the number bumps up to 153. “People are reading it as we speak, which means people are talking about it and visiting, and reposting, and the day has just started! Write Like a Girl is a hit!”

I pause and look at Jasmine. “I’m so glad you wrote it all down. I’m sorry it happened, but I love that you put it all out there. I wish we had named names. I’d love to call out Mr. Morrison and Meg—who does she think she is, anyway?”

“I know,” Jasmine says. “She’s the worst. I can’t believe James is going out with her.”

“What!? No! No, no, no. That’s not even possible.” Of course I know it’s totally possible. Meg sings like a freaking angel and is one of the strongest actors in the school. Not to mention she’s definitely one of the most beautiful girls at school (I guess I should have started with that one). But she acts like the whole school rotates around her, and according to a handful of her close friends, it does. I can’t believe James is into that. So pathetic. But I guess I really have no idea what kind of person he’d be into. I just wish he’d be into me.

“I’m sorry,” Jasmine says. She gives me a hug.

“I don’t even know why I’m upset. It’s not like we’re even a thing. I just, I kind of wish we were,” I add, feeling like an idiot for liking someone who clearly has no feelings for me.

“I know. I get it.” But then Jasmine’s eyes fill with tears, and Jasmine never cries.

“What’s wrong?”

“My dad’s still in the hospital. I feel like nothing even matters because all I want is my dad to be better,” Jasmine says. “I just want to feel like myself again.”

I put my arm around her, and we sit together, watching the whole school start to file in and wake up.

“Hello, girls,” Ms. Lucas starts. “You two are here early. Did we have a plan to meet this morning?” she asks, looking confused.

“No, but we figured if you were here early, we could work in your classroom and plan some things for our club. Is that okay?”

“Of course, yes. Come in.” She looks at us again and can see Jasmine wiping away tears on her shirtsleeve. Ms. Lucas walks to her desk to grab a box of tissues. “You still have about fifteen or so minutes until the first bell rings. Stay as long as you want. But can I ask you two what’s wrong?”