Watch Us Rise(42)

When Isaac and I get to my block, we walk up the steep steps of the brownstone. I need to rake; leaves are covering the sidewalk, the steps. I open the door and go inside. Mom says hello to both of us and calls out from upstairs, “I put out some snacks in the kitchen.” And by snacks she means she prepared a whole spread of food for us, like she used to do: two types of wings, barbecue and spicy, mozzarella sticks, chips, fruit.

“You can start eating,” I tell Isaac.

Just as I say this, the doorbell rings. Chelsea and Nadine are here, and as soon as Mom hears their voices, she comes downstairs. Mom gives Chelsea the biggest hug, and Jason runs over to Isaac and wraps his arms around his legs.

“I love your haircut, Mrs. Gray,” Chelsea says.

“Thank you. I’m still getting used to it,” Mom says. Mom cut her hair last week. I’ve never seen her with short hair, not even in the photos from her childhood. Her hair has always been long and flat-ironed bone straight, but she said it was too much to manage with all that’s going on, so she cut it. I have been thinking about that ever since, how even just washing and straightening hair has become too much since Dad’s been sick.

“How’s your mom, Nadine?” Mom asks.

“She’s fine.”

“Tell her I said hello. I owe her a phone call.” Mom takes out plates from the cabinet. “Help yourselves,” she says. “Come on, Jason. We’ve got to finish this math.”

Jason and Mom go into Jason’s room.

I sit in the kitchen with Chelsea, Nadine, and Isaac and feast on the food Mom put out. Then we make our way to the living room. Isaac takes out his sketchbook and starts doodling as we talk. He always does this—draws while talking. It used to annoy me, made me feel like he wasn’t listening, but I think it actually helps him focus.

Nadine sits on the floor and leans her back against the sofa. “So, how are things with the women’s rights club?”

“We still have the club,” Chelsea says. “But I feel like Principal Hayes is watching everything we do. He basically gave us a warning that if our blog causes any more trouble, he’ll shut the club down.”

“But Write Like a Girl didn’t start all that drama,” Isaac says.

Chelsea looks at me. “See?”

“I agree. I know it’s not our fault, and I definitely think we should keep speaking out. I just want to be smart about it. And, well, I want to do more than just the blog. We should think outside of just what the school requires us to do. If we really want to make a point that women’s voices deserve to be heard, that our school has to do better—let’s take action.”

“What could we do?” Chelsea asks.

“Okay, so Isaac and I just came back from the Schomburg Center,” I tell them. When I say this, Chelsea smiles, but I don’t even acknowledge it. I just keep on talking like I don’t see her over there gushing and looking at Isaac.

Isaac’s eyes light up like he knows what I’m about to say. His wrist slides back and forth as he shades in something on the page.

“They have an exhibit up right now on Emory Douglas and the Black Panther Party.” I tell them about the newspaper the Black Panthers had, how art was a big part of getting messages across and how they had a list of demands of things they wanted.

Isaac erases something, blows the dust off the page, and holds up his sketchbook. “They looked something like this,” he says.





Chelsea takes his notebook and looks his drawing over. “This is . . . ?wow, Isaac, you are so talented. I mean, look at this—” She hands the book to Nadine.

“So, I was thinking Isaac could draw something for our club, and we can make buttons or something—something with a quote about our voices being important and how we cannot be silenced,” I say.

“Yes, because him warning us is threatening to silence us,” Chelsea says. Then she says, “Isaac, what do you think? Can you draw something for us?”

He takes his sketchbook back, closes it. “A button might be too small, but I like the idea of us wearing something. Maybe I can design a T-shirt. We can get a small order made and have people wear them at school.”

“Yes!” Chelsea says. “We could all show up to school wearing our shirts and we won’t even have to say a word. Whatever quote we choose will speak for itself.” Chelsea takes her phone out, and I know that she’s looking up quotes already.

Nadine says, “That’s perfect. It’s like responding to the idiots who wore disrespectful costumes. We’ll wear something that speaks against that.”

I ask Isaac, “Are you sure you have time for this?”

“Of course. I’d do anything for you.”

Nadine can’t help herself. She blurts out, “Oh, you’re doing this for Jasmine. Not for us, for women’s rights, for the cause? Oh, we see how it is.”

Isaac throws a pillow at her. Chelsea is spilling over with laughter, and all I can do is shake my head and act like I didn’t also catch that Isaac just said he’d do anything for me. Just as I am about to ask if anyone wants something more to eat or drink, I hear the bedroom door open. Dad walks slowly out of his room. He looks thinner today, even thinner than yesterday, and he is walking like every part of his body is in pain. He says hello, and I can see the fear and sadness and anxiousness in everyone’s eyes.