wonder what he thinks is going to happen today. I wonder if he’s ready.
I thought I was. Now I’m not so sure.
“Listen up, everybody, this is important.” Ennis sounds serious and official, like the NAACP men. “Remember what they told us. Look straight ahead and act like you don’t hear the white people. If a teacher says something to you, you don’t talk back. Don’t let anybody get you alone in the bathroom or on the stairs. And no matter what happens, you just keep walking.”
“What if somebody tries to hang us from the flagpole?” the freshman says. “Do we just keep walking then, too?”
“You watch your mouth,” Chuck tells him. “You’ll scare the girls.”
I want to tell him the girls are plenty scared already.
Instead I straighten my shoulders and lift my head. The younger kids are watching me. I can’t let them see how my stomach is dropping to my feet. How the fear is buzzing in my ear like a mosquito that won’t be swatted away.
We round the corner. Across the street, Jefferson High School sweeps into view. The white people are spread out across the front steps and the massive parking lot. Now I know why we could hear the crowd so well. There must be hundreds of them. The whole student body, all standing there. Waiting.
“Just like I said,” Chuck says. He lets out a low whistle. “Our very own personal welcome wagon.”
Ahead of me, Ruth shivers, despite her bulky winter coat. Under it she’s wearing her favorite blue plaid dress with the crinoline slip and brand-new saddle shoes. I’m in my best white blouse, starched stiff. Our hair is done so nice it might as well be Easter Sunday. Mama fixed it last night, heating the hot combs on the stove and yanking each strand smooth. Everything’s topsy-turvy with school starting in February instead of September, but we’re all in our best clothes anyway. No one wants the white people to think we can’t afford things as nice as theirs.
I try to catch Chuck’s eye, but he isn’t paying attention to me. He’s looking at the crowd.
They’re watching us.
They’re shouting.
Each new voice is sharper and angrier than the last.
I still can’t make out what they’re saying, but we’re not far now.
I want to cover Ruth’s ears. She’d never let me. Besides, she’ll hear it soon enough no matter what I do.
Our group has gone quiet. The boys are done blustering. Ruth lets go of Yvonne and steps back toward me. Behind us, a girl hiccups.
What if one of them starts crying? If the white people see us in tears, they’ll laugh. They’ll think they’ve beaten us before we’ve begun. We have to look strong.
I close my eyes, take a long breath and recite in my clearest voice. “The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want.”
Ruth joins in. “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters.”
Then, all ten of us, in the same breath. “He restoreth my soul.”
Some of them have spotted us from across the street. The white boys at the front of the crowd are pushing past each other to get the first look at us.
Police officers line the school’s sidewalks in front of the boys. They’re watching us, too.
I don’t bother looking back at them. The police aren’t here to help us. Their shiny badges are all that’s stopping them from yelling with the other white people. For all we know they trade in those badges for white sheets at night.
Then reporters are running toward us. A flashbulb goes off in my face. The heat singes my eyes. All I see is bright white pain.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.
I want to reach for Ruth, but my hands are shaking. It’s all I can do to hold on to my books.
“Are you afraid?” a reporter shouts, shoving a microphone at my chin. “If you succeed, you’ll be the first Negroes to set foot in a white school in this state. What do you think will happen once you get inside?”
I step around him. Ruth is holding her head high. I lift mine, too.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.
We’re almost at the parking lot now. We can hear the shouts.
“Here come the niggers!” yells a boy on the steps. “The niggers are coming!”
The rest of the crowd takes up his chant, as if they rehearsed it. “The niggers! The niggers! The niggers!”
I try to take Ruth’s hand. She shakes me away, but her shoulders are quivering.
I wish she wasn’t here with us. I wish she didn’t have to do this.
I wish I didn’t have to do this.
I think about what the white reporter said. If you succeed...
And if we don’t?
“It will be all right,” I tell Ruth.
But my words are drowned out in the shouting.
“Mau maus!”
“Tar babies!”
“Coons!”
And “nigger.” Over and over.
“Nigger! Nigger! Nigger! Nigger! Nigger!”
I’ve never been called a nigger in my life. Not until today.
We step over the curb. The white people jostle us, bumping up against us, trying to shove us back. We keep pushing forward, slowly, but it’s hard. The crowd isn’t moving, so we have to slide between them. Ennis and Chuck go in front, clearing a path, ignoring the elbows to their sides and shoves at their chests.
I want to put Ruth behind me, but then I couldn’t see her, and what if we got separated? What would I tell Mama and Daddy?
I grab her arm too tight, my fingers digging in. Ruth doesn’t complain. She leans in closer to me.
“Go back to Africa!” someone shouts by my ear. “We don’t want niggers in our school!”
Just walk. Get inside. Get Ruth inside. When the reporters go away everyone will calm down. If we can get through this part it will be all right.
My cup runneth over.
Ruth’s arm jerks away from me. I almost fall, my legs swaying dangerously under me, but I catch myself before I collapse.
I turn toward Ruth, or where she should be. Three older boys, their backs to me, are standing around my little sister, towering over her. One of them steps close to her. Too close. He knocks the
