Love Is a Revolution Page 10

  There are all kinds of food vendors and local businesses in between the two tents lining the street with their booths. The DJ is playing mostly songs Ms. Lori would approve of, but occasionally she throws in something all the young people want to hear.

  I’m not even a part of Inspire Harlem, but here I am at the face painting station decorating kids’ faces, transforming them into butterflies and superheroes. Tye asked me to help Sadie. She is painting a girl’s face, making her into Shuri.

  I have just finished a little girl’s face who only wanted a heart on her cheek. I take a picture of her, and then I take a few of the full crowd, try to capture all that’s happening. Sadie and I take a few selfies. Most of them come out horrible, but there are a few good ones that I think I’ll keep.

  The line ebbs and flows throughout the day. Every time we think we’re done, more little ones show up. The line just grew, and I am trying to paint fast but not so fast that I make a mess on someone’s face.

  Tye comes by to check on us. “You good?” he asks.

  “Thanks to Nala,” Sadie says. “You see this line? No way I could do all these faces.”

  Toya walks over to our tent with her beautiful hair, beautiful everything. She took her ordinary, boxy volunteer shirt and turned it into a cute summer crop top. She is with Imani, whose shirt is also cut up and remixed to look much cuter than it actually is. Toya gives us both a hug. “Hey, Nala. Didn’t know you were coming.”

  She actually said my name this time.

  “Yeah, Tye asked me to help. I wanted to support him.”

  Tye puts his arm around me. “She’s the one who came up with the idea to get a DJ,” he says. He goes on about the ways I helped brainstorm activities for the day. I like that he’s bragging on me. Maybe I am good for him after all.

  Toya forces a smile, says, “Nala, I keep telling you, you should join the group.” Her mouth is telling me this, but her eyes tell me something different. “Enrollment doesn’t open till fall, but until then you can be our honorary member.”

  Imani laughs. “Nala is not going to join Inspire Harlem. You might as well let that go.”

  As if Toya means it anyway.

  Sadie says, “You should think about it, Nala. We’d see each other even more.”

  And even though Sadie is talking to me, Imani says, “Nala is just not into this. Not everybody is made for Inspire Harlem. Just leave her alone about it.” Imani looks at me with a tender, cousin-sister-friend look, and I realize she thinks she’s defending me. But really, I feel small.

  I can’t blame Imani for how things got this way between us. Our whole lives she has been told, look out for your cousin . . . take care of her . . . ​She was handed a role she didn’t audition for. I can’t think of a time when she wasn’t there for me, showing me the way. Family legend is that she walked first and started trying to pull me up and teach me how. Even when she didn’t know how to read, she’d hold a picture book in her tiny, chubby hands and read to me in her gibberish, holding the book out so I could see the illustrations. Imani is the one who taught me how to tie my shoes, how to double dutch—how to leap in without getting my thick legs caught in the rope. And then there were the lessons about our bodies, about crushes, about pulling all-nighters to study for the next day’s test. Imani has always been a few steps ahead of me, always reaching back to take my hand, pull me forward with her.

  Maybe it’s time for both of us to let go. Walk on our own.

  Finally, the line has ended and Ms. Lori tells us we can close up our station and visit the vendors before the program begins. Tye looks at his clipboard and walks away with Ms. Lori toward the stage.

  Sadie and I pack everything up and step out from under the tent. This is when I realize how many people are here. And now, without the tent to cover me, I feel the hot sun on my skin. I mean, well, it’s hot but it’s not scorching like earlier this week, which is good. Today, there’s even a slight breeze. I think this is why so many people are out. We’ve all been cooped up under air conditioning as much as possible. But not today.

  “Let’s start on this side and then walk back on the other side,” Sadie says.

  “I’m hungry,” Toya says. “I’m going over to the food carts.” She tries to get Imani to go with her, but Imani stays with me and Sadie.

  Sadie leads the way down the left side of the street, me and Imani behind her like shadows, collecting handouts and free samples in our Inspire Harlem tote bags. The three of us start trying on the soda can jewelry, holding up one of the handheld mirrors to see ourselves. “What do you think of this?” Sadie asks. She has on big circular earrings that look like crushed black and red metal. They used to be a can of Cherry Coke. Imani and I answer at the same time—me saying I love them, Imani saying no. Sadie agrees with me. “I think I’m going to get them.”

  Sadie and I laugh, and then Imani gives in to a laugh too. And it feels like old times, when we would walk 125th Street and try on things and take them off, swapping them with one another, saying, this would look better on you or let me try that on. We keep walking, making our way down to see the rest of the vendors. It feels like we’re breaking some kind of rule walking in the middle of the street. I’ve always loved street fairs; besides the funnel cakes and shopping, there’s a vibe that makes me feel unrestricted, free.

  After we get to the end, we make our way back to the main stage just before the program begins. Ms. Lori takes the stage first and says a few words—first thanking the sponsors of the event, and then she says, “Before we get back to the music, food, and activities, I’d love for you to hear from our young people today. They are the force behind planning this event, and they truly care about our community. I am so positive, so very sure that these young people will be leading the way in years to come. Please show them some looove.” Ms. Lori calls on the core planning team to say something at the microphone.

  First Tye and Asher. Asher just waves to the crowd and lets Tye speak. Tye keeps it short, thanking everyone for coming out. Then Imani steps up and thanks Ms. Lori for her mentorship and then encourages people to take all this energy with them, back to their homes and work spaces. “Please take the time to read all the handouts you’re getting today and challenge yourself to put some new things into practice,” she says.

  Toya is last. She takes the mic, and she talks longer than any of them. “Dr. King said, ‘It really boils down to this: that all life is interrelated.’ This means, everything you do or don’t do for the Earth impacts another person. This means it is important to not only take care of yourself, but to make sure your neighbor has what they need.”

  When she says this, there are a few people who snap in the air like they are at a poetry café. Some of the older people actually say amen. Toya continues . . . on and on and on. She quotes James Baldwin and Chimamanda Adichie and Fannie Lou Hamer and Shirley Chisholm. She is a book of quotes; everything out of her mouth makes the audience cheer or clap. I can see her one day preaching or lecturing and inspiring people to be more and do more than they ever thought possible.

  I am irritated, inspired, and intimidated by Toya. Yeah, all three pretty equally. Not a good feeling.

  Toya stands on the stage taking in all the applause and cheering, like she knows she deserves it. Then, she looks at me and smiles, real big. “Before we turn it back to the DJ, I just want to acknowledge our honorary Inspire Harlem member. She came out today just to help and volunteer even though she is not a part of the program. She even helped our team leader, Tye, with some of the ideas for today. Let’s welcome Nala Robertson.” She waves me to the stage.

  I do not move. At all.

  “Don’t be shy,” she says. “Come say a few words.”

  The audience is clapping and waiting and waiting. Tye takes my hand and walks me to the stage. My feet are disobeying my mind. All the good sense I have is saying, do not go up there. But somehow here I am, standing on a stage in front of hundreds of people. When Toya hands me the mic, she smiles at me a
nd then cuts her eyes so fiercely that my soul bleeds.

  My hand is shaking, and when I open my mouth, nothing comes out. Imani can’t even look at me—she is literally holding on to Asher with her head buried in his chest. I clear my throat, try to speak.

  Nothing.

  Nala, get it together. Just thank everyone for being here. That’s it. That’s all I have to do. But Tye already did that, and besides, after a talk like Toya’s I’ve got to say something powerful, something moving.

  Quotes.

  Toya’s remarks were mostly other people’s words—not her own. That’s when people really got revved up. I think maybe the best speeches are when the speaker says the words other people have already spoken. I think and think of inspirational quotes I can recite. I stutter out the first thing that comes to mind. “Um . . . ​good afternoon. I, um, I agree with everything that’s already been said. It’s, um . . . ​ it’s important to get involved in our community and to learn about what’s happening around the world—especially, um, especially People of Color and especially girls, because, I mean—um, who runs the world? Girls!”

  No one claps.

  “That’s, um, that’s what Beyoncé says. Girls . . . ​run the world. But we can’t run the world if we, um, if we destroy our world. So we have to take care of it, love the Earth, you know?”

  Nothing from the audience. Just the sound of a siren moaning in the background and maybe laughter from some of the Inspire Harlem members. Even still, I can’t stop myself. I just keep talking and talking and I don’t even know what I am saying. It’s as if every song I know just comes to mind and somehow ends up coming out of my mouth. “Because there’s a lot happening in the world. You know? I’m sure you’re all like me, looking at this world and seeing the effects of climate change, and, um, all the movements happening—Black Lives Matter, the Me Too movement, Say Her Name . . . ​and, um, you’re all wondering, like Marvin Gaye—what’s going on?”

  No one claps or nods or snaps or says amen. Instead the opposite happens. People start heading back to the carts to get food, and some people walk away, like actually leave. But still, I keep talking. By the end, I’ve reverted to some cliché quote about dreams and change and trying your best. And then, finally, the DJ rescues me by cutting me off and saying, “Yes, yes, that’s right. Come on and put your hands together for our young budding activist . . .” She plays a song I don’t know that gets the crowd dancing.

  I put the mic back on the stand and run off the stage—the opposite side of where Tye is standing. I don’t say goodbye to him or anyone else. I walk home, fast as I can. As soon as I am in the house, Aunt Ebony asks, “How did it go?” but I don’t answer her. I just run upstairs, go in my room, hide.

  Imani doesn’t care that I am already in bed when she gets home. She comes into my room without knocking and starts with, “What is going on with you? Like really—what was that today?”

  “I don’t feel like talking—”

  “Oh, we are definitely talking. You are not going to embarrass me like that and then act like it’s no big deal.”

  “Embarrass you? I embarrassed myself, Imani.” I don’t turn over to face her. I am still in my bed, lying on my side, back to the door.

  “Well, I couldn’t tell,” Imani says. “I mean, you just kept going on and on. Were you trying to make fun of our program? Of Toya? Of all the hard work we do?”

  I sit up, lean against my headboard. “No, I wasn’t trying to make fun of Inspire Harlem. Everything isn’t about you and Toya, you know.” My room is dark, and I am surprised Imani doesn’t turn the light on. But I am glad. Talking with her like this, not having to really see her, makes it easier. Right now we are just shadows, just ghosts of ourselves.

  Imani sits at the foot of my bed. “You’re changing.”

  “I thought you’d be happy. Haven’t you always wanted me to be more socially conscious?”

  “But not for a guy. You’re just trying to impress Tye.”

  “And Toya was just trying to make a fool of me—which she clearly succeeded at. Are you going to talk with her too? Do you even care that she humiliated me by calling me up to the stage, knowing I am not a part of Inspire Harlem? I swear, you are loyal to everyone but your family.”

  “Are you serious right now?” Imani gets up from my bed. The mattress shifts, then settles again. “I share my mom and dad with you, and you think I’m not loyal to our family?” Imani walks to the door. She is crying, I think. It is too dark to see her sadness, but I hear her tears. She leaves my room. I get out of bed, follow her.

  It is dark in the hallway too. Dark and familiar because I never turn the hall light on when I get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. “Imani, wait,” I call into the night. “Today was all about loving the Earth and loving your neighbor. Well, what about loving your family?” I think about what Grandma and her friends said about being so busy you can forget what’s important. “You’re out there doing all this work for the community so much you’re not even here for the people who care about you. When is the last time you saw Grandma? Aunt Ebony and Uncle Randy hardly see you.” I head back to my room, but before I go in, I turn and say, “I might not know all the social justice quotes and I might not be the world’s greatest teen activist, but I am here for my family. And I’m proud of that.”

  Imani’s door slams. I didn’t even see her move.

  3 QUOTES TO LIVE BY (AKA: THE QUOTES THAT HANG ON IMANI’S BEDROOM WALL THAT I SHOULD HAVE PAID MORE ATTENTION TO)

  1.Choose people who will lift you up. Find people who will make you better. —Michelle Obama

  2.Nobody’s free until everybody’s free. —Fannie Lou Hamer

  3.Revolution is not a one-time event. —Audre Lorde

  14

  The next morning Aunt Ebony has made Uncle Randy’s favorite breakfast—corned beef with onions and bell peppers and hash browns with a sunny-side-up egg on top. We hardly ever have breakfast together. During the school year we are all rushing out and grabbing the quickest thing available, which is usually a granola bar. But today, Aunt Ebony has called us downstairs to eat, not caring if we were awake or not, if we are hungry or not.

  When we get to the table, I am sure Uncle Randy and Aunt Ebony feel the tension between me and Imani. I try not to make it too obvious, but I can’t pretend that I am still not frustrated. For the first few minutes at the table, the only sound is the clanking of forks against plates and the occasional slurp of pineapple juice. I see Uncle Randy raise his eyebrows to Aunt Ebony, as if to ask, did I miss something? He wipes his mouth, says, “Have you two started on your college applications? I know it’s summer, but the application deadline for early decision will be here before you know it.”

  Imani says, “I’ve been working on my personal essay all week, and I’ve already asked two teachers for letters of recommendation.”

  Of course Imani is ready.

  She has two schools as her top choices. I am unsure, but I would never admit that. I nod and say, “Me too. I’m almost done with my essay.” I am getting really good at lying. I don’t understand what the rush is. Why can’t I just apply for the regular deadline? Who cares about early decision?

  Imani does.

  I try to eat as fast as I can so that I don’t have to lie anymore. I am going over to Grandma’s. I get up from the table, put my plate and silverware in the dishwasher. “Thanks for breakfast,” I say.

  “You’re welcome,” Aunt Ebony says. She looks at me with a question mark on her face, asking me with her eyes if I’m all right. I give a half-hearted smile. The doorbell rings and Imani goes to answer. Then I hear her calling my name, “Nala, Tye is here.”

  Tye is here?

  I go to the front of the house and see Tye standing on the stoop. When Imani sees me, she comes back into the house and I feel her look of disapproval when she walks past me.

  Tye and I sit on the stoop talking and people watching. At first, it’s all awkward small talk about how it’
s not too hot today, and then Tye gets to the reason of why he came. “I have a gift for you,” he says.

  “A gift?” I can’t help but smile, and my heart flutters a bit. He knows how embarrassing yesterday was, so he stopped by to check on me. Tye is so thoughtful, and already I am thinking of something to get him as a thank-you.

  Tye goes into his backpack and pulls out a wrapped gift. It is square and kind of heavy. I want to rip it open fast, like I usually do my Christmas presents, but I don’t want to seem too anxious. I carefully open it, and when I realize what it is, I’m not sure how to respond. “Thanks—wow. A book of quotes.” I hope my fake thank-you voice sounds grateful.

  “I know that was a lot yesterday and you weren’t prepared to speak, so I wanted to give you this so that the next time you have to make a speech, you can have some inspiration.”

  I won’t ever be making a speech again. I’m not a speech-making person.

  Tye is so proud of his gift he takes it from me and opens it. “Look, there are quotes from James Baldwin, Paul Robeson, Fannie Lou Hamer . . . ​I got this at the Schomburg Center at their gift shop.”

  “Thank you,” I say again. Because what else can I say?

  “I was thinking maybe we can go through this and find some quotes to type and blow up so we can hang them next to the photos for your photo legacy project. It would be nice to create an atmosphere in the space where you’re doing the gallery.”

  “This is . . . this . . . thank you.” That really is all I can say.

  Tye is perfectly content to sit out here and look through this book of quotes all day, but I am not. I tell him I need to get to work and that I have to go. “I can walk with you,” he says.

  “Oh, okay, thanks.” I make sure Aunt Ebony knows I am leaving, and then Tye and I walk to Grandma’s. On the way he is going on about the quotes, then about how many other treasures he found at the Schomburg’s gift shop and how he wants to get his mom something. I am half listening because I am trying to sort through my thoughts, trying to figure out how it is that the same characteristics that make Tye so attractive also make him frustrating. I love that he is passionate, thoughtful, that he’s so respectful and just outright nice, but sometimes that passion and thoughtfulness is a bit clueless and can feel condescending.