For Black Girls Like Me by Mariama J. Lockington

Author:Mariama J. Lockington
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux (BYR)

I hear Mrs. Karen our troop leader yell: “Ten minutes of free time girls! And then we’ll circle up.” But I keep my eyes focused on the page as the room chatters with activity. The rest of the girls’ voices buzz in my ears. And so focused am I on the uniform hum of their voices. So focused am I on trying to find the perfect lyrics to accompany the music of the room. That when I hear Alma call me a “dirty black orphan” I do not cry. I just look up at her standing over me with a mean smirk on her face and I open and close my mouth like a fish. I look around for help but Mrs. Karen has stepped out and the rest of the girls are gathering around to watch. Even Lydia hovers outside of the circle. Waiting to see what happens. Alma’s face is twisted into a sneer. I can tell she’s been waiting for this moment since I joined. Since she teased me about my “hipster-ass bike” on the first day.

“You think you’re better than us?” Alma starts now. “Talking all proper like a white girl. You know you’re not white right? You know you’re just like the rest of us.”

I look around at the rest of the troop. Twelve Latina girls. A couple of white girls including Lydia shuffling their feet in the corner. And me. A mismatched girl. No. I do not think I am better than you. I say in my head. I am just me. I am a seed. But my tongue swells in my mouth as if stung by a bee. And no words come out. I’ve barely spoken ten sentences to anyone the whole time I’ve been in the troop. Keeping to myself. What gave me away? I hadn’t let Mama drop me off once since I started.

“Oh now you can’t speak?” Alma continues. “I know all about your family. Mrs. Karen said your parents don’t even look like you.”

“I know who I am!” I yell back finding my voice. And then. As if someone has forced a finger down my throat I hear myself say: “At least I know HOW to speak English you stupid Mexican.”

And I feel so heavy then. Why did I say that?! As if someone has filled my ugly green vest with sandbags. I can barely move my arms my legs. And so when Alma calls me a dirty black orphan along with some other horrible names I do not cry. I cannot cry because even my eyes feel weighted. I grab my things and walk out slowly trying to hold my head high. And Alma yells and yells and yells in my ear and some of the other girls cheer and cheer and cheer Alma on.

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