Hoodie (2 page)

And then the questions and comments poured forth as though a dam suddenly broke.

“I don’t even know what a culture is.”

“Why you havin’ us do this? Can’t we just take a test?”

“We’ve gotta work on a paper this big with someone we don’t know?”

“That’s not right, Dr. Thompson. What if the other person does nothing?”

Dr. Thompson listened patiently to the comments and concerns, running a hand through his graying hair.

“Dr. Thompson, why was it a big deal getting this assignment approved?”

He decided to address the last question.

“Because most of the teachers and staff at this school think you’re too immature to handle such an assignment. They don’t think you can deal with hanging around a person who’s totally different from you and then write a paper together on top of that.”

He paused for a moment as though considering something. “They think it’s too hard,” he admitted and heard a murmur of agreement throughout the classroom. “I look at it as a learning experience, a chance for you to try and break free from the high school mold.”

“What’s the high school mold?” asked a tall boy in the back row.

“I’ll strive for elegance here, Mr. Andrews. Cliques. Cliques that create within young people minds so narrow that they haven’t the ability to look beyond themselves to the world around them. They hide within the safety of their own kind, afraid to venture out and attempt to understand something new. Does that answer your question?”

“See, Dr. Thompson, I take great offense to that. Just ‘cause we hang with our own kind don’t make us narrow-minded. It’s in our nature to wanna be with people like us.”

It was the boy Dr. Thompson called Mr. Robinson who spoke. He received several nods of approval and grunts of appreciation.

“Then perhaps it’s time to call into question your nature, Mr. Robinson,” Dr. Thompson replied.

Many of the students turned to look at the boy called Mr. Robinson in anticipation of his reply. But he had none, so Dr. Thompson continued.

“I’m giving you a handout that explains this assignment in detail. Read it over to yourselves. You’re seniors. You can do that.”

He walked across the front of the room handing stacks of papers to the students in front of the rows to pass back.

“Now listen carefully for the name of your partner,” he said. “I’m giving you class time today to meet and exchange contact information. Talk over the assignment together as well. Don’t come to me. Try to get a sense of what’s being asked of you on your own. Again, you’re seniors. You can do that.”

“But what if there’s something we really don’t understand?” Emma asked.

“You can ask me all the questions you want tomorrow, Ms. Chapman. We’ll have a discussion day for the assignment then.”

The announcement of partners was more tedious and time consuming than Dr. Thompson thought. He prepared himself for a few grumbles and protests, but instead he got utter confusion. As he called names, students wandered around the classroom aimlessly. It occurred to him that no one knew each other. How was that possible, he wondered, that students who had spent an entire academic year together in his classroom had no idea who their classmates were?

Emma sat patiently waiting for Anton to approach her and exchange information, but he never came. She turned around to see him lounging in his seat, staring straight ahead, apparently indifferent to Dr. Thompson’s instructions. Her heart dropped. She instantly considered the possibility of being stuck with a bad partner, one who would do very little to no work at all leaving her to write the entire term paper alone for which he would receive equal credit. She hated collaborative work, and feeling her face tighten, she got up from her seat to go to him.

“Jackass,” Emma muttered as she thought of Anton. A few students sitting close by turned in her direction.

“Who’s a jackass?” whispered a boy to her left.

Emma jerked up from her notebook and looked at the boy who addressed her. She didn’t recognize him and was sure she had never before spoken to him. She smiled at him sheepishly as the final bell rang. He returned a grin and hopped up from his desk to join the other students exiting the classroom. She followed behind him navigating the crowded hallway to Dr. Thompson’s class. She had a few concerns she needed to voice.

***

Dr. Thompson listened patiently as Emma finished. He was hoping to leave work right after the final bell and had just locked his desk when she came into the classroom. She spent ten minutes listing reasons why she felt it appropriate to be assigned a different partner for the term paper. He tried twice to interrupt her, but she appeared to have memorized her speech and did not leave room for so much as a nanosecond between breaths and words. It was flawless; her intonations and voice fluctuations were spot on as well, and he was tempted to ask her when she found time during the school day to write, edit, and practice her speech.

When he was certain she was finished, noting a look of premature victory on her face, he replied, “I’m sorry Emma. It’s not going to happen. The partners stay as is. And anyway, it’s just the first day. How could you already have such issues with Anton?”

Before Emma could reply, she heard the door to the classroom open.

“Forget something, Mr. Robinson?” Dr. Thompson asked, peering around Emma’s body.

She tensed up immediately.

“Maybe,” he said.

“Listen, do you have a minute?” Dr. Thompson asked.

“I guess,” he replied, sauntering up to the teacher’s desk.

He stood close to Emma, his arm brushing hers, knowing full well that it made her terribly uneasy.

“Let’s get this figured out now,” Dr. Thompson continued. “Emma is concerned about doing this paper with you.”

Emma didn’t know where to look. She couldn’t look at Dr. Thompson. She wanted to fly across the desk and claw his eyes out. She didn’t dare look at Anton. She could only imagine the thoughts going through his head, calling her any number of unmentionable names.

Anton looked at Emma with an expression of mock surprise.

“You told me you couldn’t wait to get started! You said you was so happy we was partners, that you was secretly prayin’ Dr. Thompson’d pair us up. You said you had a crush on me! Now I’m hearin’ this? Dr. Thompson, I don’t even know what to think right now. My feelin’s is so hurt.”

“Give it a rest, Anton,” Dr. Thompson said flatly. “Now, Emma is concerned that you have no plans to take this assignment seriously, and quite frankly, I’m starting to understand why. This isn’t a joke, son. This is sixty percent of your grade. So stop clowning around and figure out how the two of you are going to work together for the next six weeks. I will not change the partners. You’ve got to learn to work with people you might not necessarily want to. That’s life.”

Anton nodded while Emma didn’t move.

“And as for you, Emma,” Dr. Thompson continued. “You’re a senior. Know what I mean? It’s time to grow up and deal with it. And when I say ‘it’ I mean, well, everything.”

Emma felt the heat of humiliation on her face. There was nothing left to say. She turned to leave the room wanting to follow behind Anton, but he waited for her to go first, opening the classroom door like a perfect gentleman.

Once they were in the deserted hallway, she finally forced herself to look at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words failed her.

He looked her up and down and snorted. “You nothin’ but an uptight white bitch who’s mad she gotta work with a nigga.”

The words stung, and she stood speechless as she watched him walk away.

***

“He called me a bitch,” Emma said into the phone.

“Well, you’ve got to tell Dr. Thompson. Isn’t that, like, harassment or something?” Morgan asked on the other end.

Emma sat on her bed studying the ends of her hair. She snipped the strands with a pair of scissors when she found splits in the follicles. She had her best friend on speaker phone.

“No, I can’t tell him. Didn’t you hear what I told you he said to me?” Emma replied irritated. “Apparently I need to grow up and deal with it.”

“Then go to the principal about him. He’s a teacher. He can’t talk to you like that. He’s supposed to be helping us,” Morgan answered.

“I am so not doing that, Morgan,” Emma replied. She found another split end and snipped.

“Well, what are you going to do then?” Morgan asked.

“Deal with it, I guess. But how am I going to work with someone who called me a bitch?” she asked. “I’m not a bitch, am I?”

“Girl, you are so far from a bitch. Now Alyssa, she’s a bitch. Beth? Total bitch and ugly too. But you? You’re an angel from heaven,” Morgan said sweetly.

Emma grinned. “Thank you.”

“So anyways, I gotta run. It’s family game night. Isn’t that the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard?” Morgan said.

“I don’t know. I think it sounds kind of nice,” Emma responded whose family never had game night.

“Of course you do. Although you don’t have little brothers or sisters. If you did, I think you would think differently.”

Emma grunted.

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye!” And Morgan hung up.

Emma turned off her phone and then lay back on her bed. She stared up at the ceiling replaying the events over in her head. Why was he so rude to her? What had she done? She thought hard trying to remember anything in her behavior or words that might have been offensive, but she was at a loss. She was polite, at least up until the moment he insulted her for no reason, making fun of the way she acted in class. Since when was it a bad thing to participate, she thought bitterly? He participated in class all of the time, and not just to be argumentative. He made observations about the books they read. So why did he make fun of her for doing the same?

And then it occurred to her, a realization that panicked her, that maybe it had nothing to do with her personally. Perhaps he didn’t like white people in general. Narrow-minded indeed, she thought, remembering Dr. Thompson’s words to the class. She knew she could allow the panic to win over and create in her a fear of him. It was easy, and she was tempted. She cringed at the thought of the following day—having to see him and talk to him. The panic rose, and she entertained it, imagining how he would treat her for the next six weeks. The things he would say. The way he would look at her.

With great effort, she focused on replacing her fear with anger. She recalled him calling her a bitch. She let that replay over and over in her head until the sinking in her heart was supplanted by a steady glowing hate. She lay on her bed and nurtured it, letting it glow brighter, build up in her until she resolved to say something to him. What, she did not know, but she had to say something.

CHAPTER 2

THURSDAY, APRIL 16

She was unwavering in her decision even as she felt the beads of sweat pop up under her arms. She took a deep breath and walked towards him. He was at his locker pulling books.

“I’m not a bitch,” she said once she was close to him.

He looked at her skeptically. His friends were standing around him, and they laughed. When he said nothing, her anger bubbled over.

“I’m not a fucking bitch!” she yelled, turning a few heads.

“I didn’t call you a fuckin’ bitch. I called you an uptight white bitch. Is that the same thing?” he asked, closing his locker softly.