Monday

I didn't know it when I got out of bed, but it was the beginning of the worst day of my life. I woke up, sore and still tired like I hadn't slept at all — which I don't anymore, not since ... Well, not in a few months at least. Definitely not since I had to come here.

I woke up, sore but typical and rolled out of bed and waddled my fat ass to the bathroom to do the stuff I do there. I dressed in my uniform, now required by all the local schools and walked to the bus stop. The private bus stop — the Redmonds didn't want me to attend public school so they were actually paying for a private charter school. My new foster family was rich.

That was actually weird. People with money. My real family — Family? HA! My Mom was dealing and my dad I've never even seen. Mom was never sure who he was — she did manage to narrow it down to three guys but I never met any of them so, it didn't really matter. And anyway, none of them had any money so Mom was dealing when they arrested her and sent me to a couple different foster homes until I finally landed with Marie. Before that, I went to a really crappy public school and I say that in a city who's schools scored beneath third world nations for the three-Rs. But Mom didn't care where I was so long as I wasn't home or getting arrested so even when they told her the school was below minimum standards, she didn't care. When she got arrested, Social Services had me tested and discovered that I was stupid and made me re-take a couple grades. I was always changing families. They'd take me because I was cute but send me back because of bad behavior. Finally, SS found Marie who figured that I just needed some 'free love and guidance' and SS figured that sticking me with her would shut the White lady up. The first thing Marie did was had me tested by some shrink who said I was 'intellectually gifted but unchallenged and unmotivated' so she found a school she figured would do something about it.

When I think of "mother" mothers, I mean the kind that care about you really and shit, I think of Marie. She was this weird, hippy, freaked out White lady but somehow she passed the test for foster parentage — meaning she filed out the form, had a pulse and lived in the District — and they figured she wouldn't kill me while they found a Black family to be my 'real' foster family. I stayed with her for five years until things fucked up. Marie sent me to a public charter school that had this kind of one-room schoolhouse thing — all grades together. Some stuff worked, some stuff didn't. It did at least get me up to my real grade level and even advanced in some things like reading and social studies. But, like I said, some stuff didn't work.

They had The Program there but it was voluntary. So some kids went to school naked and some didn't. I didn't. Ever. I'm fat. I don't mean, like plump or some shit. I mean at 16, I was 5'2'' and weighed 170 at least. And that was after Marie helped me lose weight. Ms. Redmond — my current foster mother — keeps saying that she'll help me get lipo or some shit if I want it but really, that's a White people thing. Black boys like a girl with some meat. 'Baby got Back' isn't just a song. I have never lost a date just because I'm thick. Then again, that's what my problem is so maybe that's not a good thing.

I didn't even know — yet — if my new school had The Program or not. I had been placed with the Redmonds in July and they put me in this new high-class private school with kids who have money. Unlike my last school which was really mixed, or my old school which was damn near all Black with a couple Hispanics and like one White girl, this place was almost entirely White. There were a couple Black kids but they had money so they were oreos — black on the outside, white on the inside. There were two Asian boys, brothers, and four Hispanics and one girl from Saudi Arabia who was more stuck up than any White girl I'd ever met.

But it was only October. And I'd seen a couple naked people in class but I didn't know if it was Program or outreach or what. I hadn't made any friends — I hadn't made any enemies either — so I had no one to ask really.

So. Monday, I had no idea how bad my day was going to suck. I rode the bus alone as usual. None of them talk to me, I don't talk to them. Mostly these days, I read. But not fiction. Biographies mostly. Mr. Redmond collected them and said I could read them anytime so long as I didn't crack the spines or damage the covers. He got me a leather cover that fit most of books so I didn't get fingerprints on them. He was way cooler than Ms. Redmond but I saw him a lot less often. I guess even White kids don't really have dads. I thought about them for a bit. I mean, if I had a choice, I'd be back with Marie. But the Redmonds weren't bad. Ms. Redmond was all freaked out about being some perfect TV mom shit so she was way too far up in my business way too often. And Mr. Redmond was home to eat, sleep and change clothes. But he didn't try and touch me like a couple 'Fathers' did and she meant well. For a minute, I thought my life might actually be getting kind of ok.

When I got to school, I went to homeroom. I opened my book — Benjamin Banneker today — and was all set to ignore the next twenty minutes of overhead announcements and whatever else happened in homeroom that I started ignoring the day they told me I could read during the period.

"TyShala?" I looked up when I realized that the teacher was calling my name. He was one of the few people around here who said it right — tie-shay-la. How hard is that really? "TyShala? Did you hear that?"

"What?" I hadn't heard anything.

"You're to report to the office."

I groaned and put my book away. October. I made it to October without being called to the office — I thought I was in trouble I didn't realize yet. I grabbed my backpack and made the short walk down the hall. When I arrived in the principal's office, they looked at me like I was stupid — I hate that administrative bitch! — and sent me to the Nurse's office. Nurse's office. Ha! My old school had a rusty box of band aids. This place had a Nurse-Practitioner on staff.

When I got there, I was the second to last to arrive. Everyone else was already undressing.

"What the fuck?" I couldn't help it. Too many thoughts slammed me at once.

"Oh, Ms. Brown! Did you have the Program at your prior school? Of course you did, it's required now, isn't it?" The nurse stepped over to me. "Have you had a Program Orientation yet?"

"I can't do the Program." I cannot do the Program — not now.

"Do you have a medical exemption? I'll need to see it before I can let you return to class."

"No." But I should! I did have an old standby. "I'm a ward of the state. You have to get my fosters and the city to sign off on it before I can participate in anything." The first time in my life I had ever been glad of that restriction!

"Oh not any more."

"You don't know DC." The city didn't actually care about foster children they just wanted to control them.

"Oh, sweetie, I guess you didn't realize. The law changed. The Program is no longer voluntary. It's required for graduation. We don't need any signatures any more. So come on now, you're partner is waiting and you don't have much time before first period begins."

Panic set in fast. "Please don't make me! Please!" I burst into hysterical tears. It was easy — my mood usually swung from ok to angry but a side trip to miserable wasn't a big detour.

The nurse put her arm around me and started to comfort me. The stopped abruptly and ran her hand over my stomach. I cried harder for only a moment and then, like a summer rainstorm, found the tears tapering off. I'd cried before and it hadn't helped then either.

"Ms. Brown?" she was tentative. "Are you..." I nodded and she got me a tissue. "I see. Yes, that is ... awkward."

"What is?" a voice behind her said. A male voice.

I looked past her to see a naked, teenaged boy standing there. He looked crossed between wanting to help and fleeing from the scene of the crime. I suddenly realized that I knew him — kind of. He was in my homeroom and lived near me as well — we caught the same bus in the mornings sometimes. I couldn't remember his name though.

The nurse looked at him then at me. "You could tell him or you could show him."

"I'm not doing it!" I snapped but really, I knew. This was God being a vindictive bastard.

"It's not a medical excuse, I'm afraid. In fact, I think several teachers will actually be pleased to see you." She wiped my eyes. "Come on now. Let's take off your jacket." She undressed me, slowly. It was like a really nice strip search; she was gentle and kind but I was still being striped against my will. I knew when he realized what was going on.

"HOLY SHIT YOU'RE PREGNANT!"

A new round of tears started. Quiet ones this time. The nurse put my clothes somewhere and I stood there and let my partner get a good long steamy look at my beach ball belly.

What could I say? I could tell him the whole story — the boy at my last school who told me I was pretty and I was special. The new-age body temperature birth control method that Marie had me on — because drugs mess up the body, she said. Social Service's flat refusal to let me abort it. Ms. Redmond didn't actually want me; as soon as it was born, she was going to adopt the baby. SS only agreed to let her if she agreed to foster me as well.

Finally, quietly, the nurse spoke again. "I'm sorry, but the bell has just rung. I really have to send you to class now. Brian, will you make sure Tish-shilla knows the rules? Do you have any classes together?"

"Most of them, ma'am." He picked up my books and his and started for the door. When he noticed I wasn't moving, he stopped.

"Ms. Chapel..."

"She'll be fine. She's just a little embarrassed right now. Go on."

He took my hand and pulled me slightly.

I took a heaving, sobbing breath and snatched my hand away. Then I marched past him and into the hallway. Embarrassed? Humiliated! Being an unwed mother is bad. Being a teenaged mother is worse. Being a Black, unwed, teenaged mother in a practically all White school? Proof of every negative stereotype possible! The only thing I was missing was welfare! Although, I was a foster child so that probably made up for it. I was going to have to parade my shame — the shame I'd managed to hide for almost three months! The shame I was going to have to live with for the rest of my life! It was going to be easy! Hide the pregnancy then, after I delivered, Ms. Redmond would have a new baby and I could go on like nothing had happened! Now everyone would know that the baby was mine. That I was too stupid to kill it when Marie first told me how! That...

A hand got a grip on my shoulder and stopped me before I walked into a door swinging open. "Tish-shilla! Slow down! Jeez!"

I turned to see my 'partner'. I still hadn't caught his name. He looked like a really nice boy. Sadly, I wasn't really in the mood for nice. "So say it."

"Say what?"

"Go on, White boy! Say it!"

"Say what?"

"Say I'm a slut. Or I'm a welfare-momma-to-be. Say it to my face, you gonna say it behind my back." That's what they all were going to say, anyway.

His face twisted distastefully. "I'm not gonna say that."

"Yeah? Yeah?" I got in his face. "So what you gonna say?"

He hesitated and his eyes darted around me. "I think you're beautiful." He took a step back. "Look, uh..."

"You a damn liar." The second bell rang before I could say anything more and I felt the rush of students clearing the hallway. I hadn't even been aware of them being around us.

"Come on." He said reaching out then not touching me. "We got to get to Sociology."

There were no Reasonable Requests on our way to class. In fact, most people parted like I had the plague. Like it was contagious. He managed to get in front of me and open the classroom door.

"Ah, program particip-" Mr. McKenna's mouth hung open as he saw me enter the room. I glared at him and after a moment, he looked away. "Yes. Eh-hem. Program participants. Yes. Alright, class. Settle in. Do, uh, Mr. Loving, Ms. Brown, do either of you need relief?"

I stared at him; that was a joke. It had to be a joke. Next, he'd expect me to ask for volunteers!

"Ok." Mr. McKenna began shuffling paper on his desk. "If you'd both then please get your text books and come up front. Class, today we were going to begin the section on the civil rights movement of the 60s but I'd like to jump just a little a head and discuss a sub-related issue. Interracial relationships."

My partner's head whipped up at the same speed mind did. "What? Oh, we're not ... I mean, I'm not ... she's ... we didn't..." the class began giggling at his verbal back-pedaling and I rescued him.

"Don't worry. Nobody thinks you touched me." I took my book and went to sit on the backward facing desk specially prepared to make program students feel special. I was happy to discover that the seats were a clean plastic and a pair of towels were discreetly tucked between them.

"OK. Quick survey, class: How many of you think that interracial dating is ok?" Every hand in the class went up. "Ok. How many of you think interracial marriage is ok?" Most of the hands stayed up. "And how many have actually gone on a date with someone not of your race?" Only a few hands stayed up. "So it's ok for some one else but not for most of you?"

"I don't know any minorities." A blonde girl blurted out.

"Hello?" Bryant James, one of the Black boys I did hang with waved at her. "I'm right here." The class laughed.

She had the grace to be embarrassed. "I know that! I mean I know you but I don't 'know' know you. Not well enough to, you know, go out and stuff."

"But that's why you go out with someone," a guy behind her said, "to get to know someone."

"Yeah, I guess." She didn't sound convinced.

The discussion continued. Race and religion were both debated. How much difference is unique and exotic; how much is too much?

Finally Jeanette asked Bryant, "So am I cute? I mean, would you ask me out?"

I could see him grin but he had to turn all the way around in his chair to see her. "Yeah, I guess."

"Do you find Caucasian girls attractive, Bryant?" Mr. McKenna asked. "Stand up, Jeanette. How does she compare to, say, TyShawla?" I was the only Black girl in the class.

There was a universal gasp as the spotlight got turned on me again. Things had been going well. No one had spoken to me since the discussion had started. I think people had forgotten about me and my condition. Bryant looked like he wanted to burn through the floor.

"Uh..."

"If, of course, she weren't in a committed relationship," Mr. McKenna said, "which, as far as any of you know, she is."

"I'm not." I said loud enough for everyone to hear. My partner let out a gasp that sounded a bit frustrated.

Bryant finally shrugged. "I guess I'd go out with either one. Shay-Shay's not better, so much as more familiar. If I went out with Shay-Shay, I'd know what to expect." A couple of the guys in the back of the class snickered at that. I wanted to get up and punch them but I can't waddle that fast anymore. Instead, I just sat there and let them think I was a slut. "But I don't go out with many White girls so, it'd be kinda different. My girlfriend's Latina and I noticed that; the language, the food, and the kind of stuff she expects from me. It's all a bit different than with a Black girl."

"Ok. Ok. Fredrick! You raised your hand when I asked about interracial dating. What was your experience?"

Frederick hesitated and then, suddenly, blushed scarlet. "It was my Program week. One of the girls — Tiffany Dunbar, she graduated last year — anyway, she asked if I would take her out and we ... uh ... we went out for a while. I, uh, I didn't get along with her family."

"Ok. And that was important to you?" He nodded vigorously, still turning red and a few people continued to giggle. "Ok. So what attracted you to her in the first place?"

"Well, she kinda asked me out..."

"And why do you think that was?"

"uh..."

The dam burst and half the room broke up into laughter. My partner leaned over to me and whispered. "Fred's hung like a horse. He was the most popular guy in school his program week. He had a line of girls waiting to go out with him. Would have kept them too if he weren't ... y'know. That way."

Mr. McKenna was laughing too. "Ok. Let me ask different question. Would you do it again?"

Fredrick managed a sheepish smile. "I'd rather go out with her brother?" Which broke the class up and there was nothing but laughter for a couple minutes. Even I had to crack a smile. It was kind of a dumb question.

"Ok, ok! Let's move on, people. Jeanette, who are you more attracted to — the unfamiliar as represented by Mr. James — stand up, Bryant — or the familiar as represented by Mr. Loving? Brian?" he gestured and my partner stood up.

Loving? His name was Loving? I rolled my eyes. How lame!

"Ms. Brown? You have an opinion at last?"

Mr. McKenna was looking right at me and I shrugged. "Not really."

"Form one. Familiar or unfamiliar?" He gestured to Bryant and my partner. Mr. Loving. I glanced at Bryant, who was one of the few people I'd hung out with and was kind of a fox. And then I looked at Mr. Loving. He had wavy light brown hair and dark brown eyes. For some reason, I always notice hair and eyes first on a guy. His face was average but nice. His shoulders and chest were nice too — he wasn't built like a jock but you could see that he didn't spend all his free time playing video games either. Nice. Wide enough, smooth enough. Not snow white but kind of a creamy color. Not vanilla, vanilla bean. My eyes moved down his waist which was not that cut V-shape but not flabby either. His thighs were tight. They provided a muscular frame for his goods. Which seemed to wake up as I looked at them. OK, maybe stared would be more accurate. His hair down there was wavy light brown too and there was a lot of it. Mr. Happy made me wonder if Mr. Loving was half-black. "Ms. Brown? An answer, please." I looked at Mr. McKenna and opened my mouth. And realized that I had forgotten the question. "Familiar or unfamiliar?" He asked again.

"Familiar." I said. I don't date White boys. I don't.

"Ok. Everyone sit down. Ms. Brown. I'm going to ask you a personal question and you may answer it anyway you'd like. Interracial dating brings up the subject of interracial children. Now, during slavery, the child's race was determined not by skin color but by it's mother — creating the situation where people could 'pass' as White even though legally, they were determined to be Black. These kinds of distinctions still haunt children of mixed parentage. Ms. Brown, in light of today's class discussion, what race is your child's father?"

"He's Black."

Mr. McKenna went on but I didn't hear him. I was waiting for someone to call me a liar. It doesn't matter I kept telling myself. But I felt horrible about it. The father was White. I didn't have my mother's problem. I knew exactly who the father was — the first guy, actually the only guy I'd ever done it with on the one time we'd ever done it. He said I was pretty. That I was special. That he liked me in a special way. And I believed him. He said he'd make me feel good. He called me — how stupid am I? — he called me his 'African Queen' and I believed him. It made me sick. I couldn't even face him after I found out. Even thinking about him made my stomach turn. He said every lame thing a guy can say and I hung on his every smooth well-rehearsed word of it. It made me want to puke.

Then I realized I was going to puke.

I had time to stand up. Then half the contents of my stomach spewed out. Not the right half — the half with it, pity.

Mr. McKenna dismissed class early and called the maintenance crew.

I swore all the way to the boys bathroom. It didn't take long to clean up. Mr. Loving was waiting by the door with my backpack when I came out.

"Thanks." I took the pack from him. "What is your name, anyhow?"

"Brian."

"Brian. Right." I checked to make sure nothing was missing then shouldered the bag. "I got trig next."

"Yeah, actually, I'm in that one too."

"You are?"

"Yeah. We've got everything except third period and fifth period together."

"Oh." I have six classes a day with this guy and I never noticed him. Not really.

The bell rang and classes flooded the hall. A couple guys called out to Brian. A few girls asked him for a Reasonable Request. Everyone stared at me like they expected an alien hand puppet to burst forth at any moment.

The second bell rang and Brian got the girls to let him go. His dick hit his stomach with an audible smack. He had a light sweat across his forehead. We looked at each other for a minute.

"We'd better hurry." He said finally. "I'll carry this for you." And took my books.

We got to class late but Ms. Grant let him ask for relief anyway. Some girl I really didn't know volunteered. She swallowed him. That's what I should have done, I thought. My heart was racing, watching them. As soon as they were done, I had to go pee. I also had a short cry while I was in there. My whole body felt hypersensitive. Even my stomach wanted to be rubbed. I got myself under control and got back to class. The room went silent when I opened the door, everyone looking at me.

"All right, everyone, let's open your books to page..."

I glanced at Brian and he looked away guilty. So while I was gone, they were talking about me. The nigger/slut. The knocked up nigger/slut. The stupid knocked up poor nigger/slut. I wiped some tears with the back of my hand, heard the class turn the page and turned one too. I didn't know what we were doing because the book was blurry. Not that a stupid dumb knocked up nigger/slut like me understands math anyway. Not that it would do me any good. I'm just going to be another stupid dumb knocked up poor welfare-mom nigger/slut.

"TyShala?" Ms. Grant was kneeling next to me and put her hand on my shoulder. "Do you want to go to the counselor's office?"

"No." I think I managed to say it.

"Come on, honey. I think you'd better go to the counselor's office." She pulled me up, gently, and helped me to the other side of the building. The nurse and the counselor shared a waiting area and she sat me there and left. I suddenly felt utterly alone and began actually weeping uncontrollably.

"Hey! Hey! Hey! It's ok. It's ok! Ms. Grant just went to find Ms. Chapel or Ms. Scott. I'm still here." A hand touched my shoulder and then began rubbing my back. The body beside mine was warm and smelled comforting. I just cried for a while and they just held me. I'm not sure when I realized that it was Brian. How loving.

I started to giggle at that but Brian thought I was crying some more and held me tighter. Then I did start crying harder because Brian was holding me the way I thought Terrance wanted to hold me back when I thought he loved me. Now I know; no one was loving — it's just a name.

The nurse gave me a very mild tranquilizer because I couldn't get a grip on myself. They called Ms. Redmond but couldn't reach her. They called Mr. Redmond; he came down to the school.

Part of me died just a little more. They called Mr. Redmond at his office and made him come down to the school for me.

"Do you need to go home, TyShala? Because if that's what you want, I'll take you home." I hadn't seen him like this — a little irritated, a little frustrated. "It's not a problem. It's ok."

"No. No, I'm ok. I can stay." Better to stay here than be there with him angry and her smothering.

He frowned even deeper. "Are you sure? Do not tell me I wasted my time coming down here."

"No!" He'd been so nice up to now but I really should have known he'd be hiding something. "They needed to notify you that I was in the program anyway."

He looked at the nurse. "You're going to make her do The Program like that?"

"There's no danger to the baby, sir. She's not the first student to complete the program with child. Just the first student here."

He frowned at her and then crossed the room to me. He put his hand on my chin but in a nice way and made me look him in the eye. "You sure you're ok? You don't need to go home?"

I swallowed hard. I wasn't sure if I wanted to be alone with him like this; he didn't seem violent just really intense. "I'm sure. I'll stay."

He sighed and gave my knee a squeeze. "OK. Call my wife if you need anything." He said on his way out of the office.

Ms. Scott, the school councilor came and sat with me after a while. "This was a bit of a shock for you today, wasn't it?" I didn't respond because I figured it was rhetorical. "How far along are you?"

"Six months." I whispered. I couldn't look at her.

"Amazing. How have you hid it all this time?"

I shrugged. "I'm big. Nobody knows me; nobody noticed."

"When were you going to tell us here? We could have helped you." She put her hand on my shoulder but I pulled away. "You could have put the baby in danger."

"So? Like I want it!" I snapped. "I don't care."

"TyShala — have you talked to anyone about this?"

I did look at her then. Talk to anyone? Social Services sent me to a battery of doctors! None of them did anything except say 'yup, she's knocked up' and 'nope, it ain't rape' and send me home. Wherever home was that week. After Marie, before the Redmonds.

"If you'd like to talk to me..." she started but stopped at the look on my face. "Ok. I understand. Really. But if you ever need to talk, stop by, ok?"

I'd heard that before. They never meant it. White people lie. At least Black people don't pretend to care; they just don't care period.

She asked me some other questions like how it happened — I told her a stork flew in to my bedroom window — and did I plan to keep it and stupid stuff like that. She asked how the Redmonds were treating me. Was I seeing a doctor regularly.

"So, you haven't mentioned your boyfriend yet. What does he think of all this?"

I don't have many boy friends never mind a boyfriend! "What's he got to do with this?"

"So the Father's not involved? Does he at least know the child is his?"

I stared at her. "Why should he care?"

She sighed deeply. "TyShala..." She tilted her head slightly. "That's a very pretty name. TyShala. Is it African? Do you know it's meaning?"

I had to laugh. "African? Please! Yeah, South African. It means 'yo momma on welfare' in Ebonic." Apparently she knew something about the south side of the city because she shook her head and sighed deeply again.

"We're not all out to get you. I want to help you."

"Yeah. You'll help the good ones."

"TyShala ... we have a diversity group after school. I'd like you to join it. It focuses on bringing racial issues to light and..."

She must have lost her damn mind. "Do I look like I need a diversity group? I'm the only diverse thing up in here! You people need to bring racial issues to light not me! I already know about racial sensitivity and shit!"

"Then maybe you'll come speak to the group about what it's like being so different from the norm..." She winced. "I mean, the larger percent of the student body. We are not a diverse school, it's true. I've tried." She leaned back in her chair. "It's been a fight. Students don't want to commute across town. Parents don't or can't pay the higher tuition — even with financial aide. And that's after I find candidates with high enough test scores to get through admissions! Do you know how many minority applicants I had this year?" I shook my head. "One. You. Please don't fight me. I need you. I need you to get through this. Especially now. If you can get through all of this — the program, the pregnancy, the school year — you can show me that I'm not wasting my time here."

For a minute, she sounded like Marie. The whole 'one love' shit. White women always have to have some cause. Why does it have to be me? I heard the bell ring in the background. I didn't want to go to class but I also didn't want to sit here with her staring at me like I was some poor wet dog. "I gotta get to class." I muttered.

She sighed again. "What about the group tomorrow?" I sucked my teeth and rolled my eyes. "You need an excused absence for third period. If you don't come to the group, I won't give it to you."

"But..." Cut class twice and you get a demerit. I can rack up enough of those without her help. She looked pretty serious. "Yeah, whatever." I reached out expecting her to start writing but she shook her head.

"I'll mention it to Ms. Shadowgard but you'll get your pass after the group meeting tomorrow."

"Bitch!" I muttered under my breath.

"Excuse me?" It almost sounded like she was going to laugh.

"Nothing. Can I go now?"

"Of course!" she put her hand on my knee before I could heft myself up. "Are you sure?" I rolled my eyes. "Fine! How did you hide this for so long?"