52
perseverar
to persevere
Maxine and I decide to go on a walk through Columbia Park. “All our outings can’t be centered around food,” she says. Spring is finally here, so walking outside isn’t so bad. I’ve been looking forward to it all week. We walk under the colossal trees, circling the whole park. As we walk, I tell her about Sam—about the incident at the mall and in the cafeteria line, and how Sam doesn’t even know about Natasha Ramsey. How she’s always making excuses for why something is the way it is, and her reasons are never about the fact that I am black and that sometimes it really is about race.
“You need to tell her how you feel,” Maxine says.
“I know, but I don’t know how to start the conversation with her,” I admit. “And I’ve never had to have any serious conversations about race with a friend. I mean, the point of friendship is to be able to be yourself, to just exist with someone who gets you while you get them. I never have to talk to Lee Lee and hash things out about stuff like this.”
“I don’t think it’s fair to compare the two of them. They are different, and just like Lee Lee offers you a certain kind of friendship, it sounds like Sam does too. Some friends are worth fighting for,” Maxine says. She sits on a park bench. I sit next to her. “And you know, you’re worth fighting for,” Maxine tells me. “Did you ever talk with Mrs. Parker about the study abroad program?”
Something else I need to speak up about.
“I will,” I tell her.
“By the way,” she says. “I’ve been thinking of our deal. I held up my part,” she tells me. “I’m done with Jon. For real this time. Thought you’d want to know that,” Maxine says. “So, I did my part. I quit. Now we have to keep working on your learning how not to quit on everything and everyone because they disappoint you or hurt you or make a mistake.”
I don’t even argue with her because I know she’s right. I can’t quit on Sam, can’t quit on my dream to do the study abroad program. Can’t quit on me.
53
para abogar
to advocate
When I walk into the classroom, Mr. Flores is eating lunch and watching a video on his lap top. I hear a voice saying, “Natasha Ramsey was released from the hospital this morning.”
Mr. Flores pauses the video. “Sorry, I forgot we had an appointment.” He pushes his sandwich to the side. “Come on over, Jade. Have a seat.”
“You can finish watching that, if you want,” I tell him.
“Oh, this? I was watching the press conference they had this morning on Natasha Ramsey’s case. But I can get to it later,” he says.
“I’d like to watch it with you, if that’s okay.” I sit at Mr. Flores’s desk. He touches the play button. We watch the doctor finish his statement, and then Vancouver’s mayor speaks. Someone representing the family ends by thanking the citizens of the Vancouver-Portland area for their support and prayers.
When the video is over, Mr. Flores says, “I’m so relieved she’s going to be okay. Physically, anyway. Who knows what the psychological damage will be?” He closes his computer. “Thanks for suggesting we watch it together,” he says. “So, ah, ?qué pasa?”
I hesitate. My problem seems trivial now after remembering Natasha Ramsey. There are worse things happening in this world. But if I don’t say it now, I never will. “I just wanted to ask a question,” I say. “I— I wanted to know why you didn’t think to nominate me for the study abroad program.” I look away, down at the floor, before I get a glimpse of his reaction.
“Well, Jade, that’s a good question.”
I give him my reasons why I think I deserve to go. “I have an A in your class. You always pick me to help people in the class who are struggling. And, you know, this is an opportunity to do volunteer work and service and that would look really good on my college résumé; plus, without the study abroad program, I doubt I’ll ever, ever get an opportunity to travel internationally.” Maybe I shouldn’t have said that last point, but it’s true. And he needs to know.
Mr. Flores’s face changes color like a mood ring. He is white, pink, red. He takes a deep breath. “You are right that, technically, you deserved to go, but, well, I wanted to be fair to the other students,” he tells me. “You have a lot of support and are in a lot of programs.” He pauses, then continues, “Jade, other students need opportunities too.” Then he wraps up the rest of his sandwich and puts it back into his bag.
“I’m not saying the students who were nominated shouldn’t have been. I’m saying I should have been too. Why am I only seen as someone who needs and not someone who can give?” I ask.
Mr. Flores doesn’t answer my question. Instead he says, “Don’t you realize you’re in those programs because we believe in you? We know you have potential. That SAT prep class you were in last year is going to make it easier for you when it comes time to take the test.” Mr. Flores sits forward in his seat, like he’s going to stand, like he’s ready to go and be done with this conversation.
I get up.
Mr. Flores stands, walks me to the door. “It’s my job to care about all my students, Jade. I have to be fair,” he tells me.