Watch Us Rise(49)

“You’re right. I didn’t think about that. Look, I’m really sorry. I messed up something that was supposed to be a big group action.”

“Don’t worry. It was still a big group action, and it worked. I mean, you definitely messed it up, yes, but thanks for saying that. And besides, I do look really good in this shirt,” Jasmine says.

We both bust out laughing.

Then Jasmine says, “But next time?”

“I know, I know. I’ll get all the right sizes next time,” I say. We order a chocolate cake with a side of vanilla ice cream.

“I still can’t believe what happened with Jacob,” Jasmine says, shaking her head, “or with Principal Hayes.”

“Me neither, and after it, I just kept thinking: Am I making too big a deal of this, or was it me that provoked it, and then I was pissed at myself for even thinking that. How could I think that?” I ask.

“Because this is complicated,” Jasmine says. “And it just shows us that we need to do more.”

Nadine and Isaac walk in. “It’s sooooo cold out there,” Nadine says, squeezing next to me in the booth, leaving Isaac to awkwardly sit next to Jasmine without getting all up on her. It’s awesome to watch. They both order coffee and load it up with cream and sugar. “Today rocked,” Nadine says, hugging my shoulders.

“Yeah, y’all made everybody start talking,” Isaac says. “And I’m really feeling this new design on the shirt,” he says, eyeing Jasmine.

“It looks so cool, right?” I ask.

Isaac blushes then changes the focus off Jasmine. “My dad asked me to make a bunch for our family reunion, with all the women’s faces from the Rodriguez family.”

“Oh, I love that,” Jasmine says.

“So then what’s next?” he asks, eyeing both of us.

“We’re figuring it out. Something really big has to happen,” Jasmine says. We tell Nadine and Isaac about Jacob.

“Are you gonna fight it?” Nadine asks.

“Yeah, I’m gonna fight it with you all, with something we decide to do. I don’t want to have to bring a teacher into it, and I definitely don’t want to talk about it with Jacob Rizer—he’s just gonna totally deny it anyway,” I say.

“Yeah, something’s gotta change here. But if I were you, I totally wouldn’t let Jacob off the hook,” Isaac adds.

“You’re right,” I say, sitting back. “I know you’re right. We gotta come up with something. What. Is. Next?”

“We can wear the shirts to the next open mic at Word Up. Maybe poets from the other schools will want to get some,” Jasmine says. “Chelsea, before you perform your poem, you can talk about why we made these shirts.”

I tell her, “You can talk about the shirts, too, after you perform one of your poems.”

“Yeah,” Isaac says. “You’ve been writing a lot lately. I want to hear some of your words.”

Jasmine doesn’t say yes to our idea, but she doesn’t say no either.

Nadine says, “I can film the performance so you two can post it online. This can be our next action.”

“And we need a statement or a list of demands. What was that you said earlier, Chelsea?” Jasmine asks. “Something about listening to women, and . . .” Jasmine grabs a pen and motions me to start talking. We spend the whole afternoon coming up with a plan.





It’s the week before Thanksgiving, and we’re all together at Word Up. I usually sit back to enjoy the open mic. I love seeing Chelsea up there mesmerizing everyone with her words, how she is so bold and confident. Sometimes I get nervous with her. I know her poems by heart as much as she practices them with me. So when she is reciting them, I move my lips along with her, sending her all the good vibes I can muster. It’s one thing to be in a play and have a whole cast of people supporting you, but standing alone on stage in front of a mic? That’s a whole nother talent. One I am not sure I have, but still, I am going to do this anyway because I promised Chelsea I’d read one of my poems.

I am good at pretending to be someone else, of getting in their skin and finding their voice, mannerisms. But tonight, I am standing here in my own brown skin, no costume, no stage makeup. Just me. Just me and my words, no playwright’s thoughts or director’s notes.

I am standing in front of the crowd, and this is the worst stage fright I’ve ever had. The audience here in this tiny bookstore is closer than they’d be if I were on a stage and they were sitting in the audience. They can probably see every roll in my belly, my thick legs shaking, my chubby hands holding the mic.

I don’t want to do this.

I look out into the crowd and see Chelsea on the edge of her seat looking at me like, You got this, you got this. And Isaac is doing the same. I clear my throat and begin.





This Body

SKIN: NOUN

1. Sensitive. Dry.

See Dove soap, Oil of Olay, shea butter.

See middle school pimples plumping up the night before picture day.

Always on the chin or nose.

2. Dark. See slave. See Negro.

See age 7. See yourself

playing on the playground

when a white girl says,

you must eat a lot of chocolate since your skin is so brown.