A Bubble of Time

Chapter 10: School Sucks

"Hey…hey…" Rodney held up his hand and backed up a step. "I'm not a racist! I never said that…" He was suddenly stuttering.

"You might as well have." I glared at him. "Calling me Sambo and tar baby is no different than calling me nigger."

"Dude, stop saying that word," Rodney said with a guilty look on his face. "I never said that."

Most of the boys began to grumble and mutter insults at me from beneath their breaths, but the name-calling mercifully stopped. The school bus rounded the corner, and Bernice looked at me curiously as we took our seat next to each other. I was still trembling.

"Girl, what has gotten into you?" she asked.

My heart was thumping with adrenaline. "I don't know. I just felt like being something different." It felt good being something different.

She watched me in confusion. "Is that why you chopped off all your hair so that you can walk around looking like a boy?"

"I look like a boy?" I asked while patting my Teeny Weeny Afro.

She nodded. "Those are boys' clothes, and you are wearing a nappy Afro. At least curl your hair and pick it out."

I didn't get mad at her observation. At least she was my friend and not poking fun at me.

Yeah…school was going to be full of shits and giggles.

As we rode the school bus, for a moment I felt like I was a kid again. Bernice and me cut up, joking and gossiping. Since I barely remembered anyone, I let her do most of the gossiping.

"I'll see you at lunch," she called as we got off the bus and she scampered away to class.

I wanted to tell her to wait, to tell me where I was supposed to go, but it was too late and she was already gone. I dug into my book bag, searching for a schedule, and I had one taped to the inside of my binder. I was such a geek—luckily for me.

I pulled my hoodie up over my head and then remembered that I wasn't here to be the same me, but a different me so I swept it off again.

Everybody seemed to look at me as I searched for my class. Some pointed and laughed, but most didn't. This time it had a different effect on me. I was sad that so many kids tried so hard to find ways to hurt each other, but I kept my head up high and wore my TWA with pride.

My first class was called homeroom. You went there for fifteen minutes for some unknown reason.

I recognized almost everyone. It was like a veil had been lifted. I even grinned at Miss Walter, the homeroom teacher. She was pretty, enthusiastic, and had always been kind to me.

"Kenya?" Miss Walter said while eyeing me.

Umm, what had I done now?

"Do you have an absence note for me?" she asked.

A relieved breath fell from me. "Oh. Yes. That." I got up and handed her the note before returning to my seat.

I waved at a girl from across the room that I remembered liking. She returned the wave hesitantly. Okay, so waving was probably not appropriate when in theory I saw this same girl almost every day.

"I like your hair." Another girl smiled at me as I took my seat. The name Phyllis popped into my head. I don't remember liking Phyllis, and as I returned her smile I wondered why we had never become friends.

"Psyche!" she hollered in laughter.

"Phyllis, quiet!" Miss Walter admonished with a severe frown.

I leaned back in my chair recognizing my first mistake. I wish I could start the day over—not so that I could go back to my real time, but so that I could correct this major faux pas.

If I was here to fix mistakes I needed to teach the students at Colerain High School that chocolate girls rocked. I had come to school taking it for granted that dark-skinned celebs like Lauren Hill, Idris Elba, Morris Chestnut, and Michonne from The Walking Dead had already taught society about the beauty of darker- skinned brothers and sisters.

Tomorrow let the lessons begin.

Second bell, which was actually my first class, was geography. I do not remember anything about a class called geography, not even the teacher. But it was incredibly boring and completely forgettable.

Third bell was history, and initially I was excited at the prospect of learning things that were televised on one of my favorite cable channels, The History Channel. Thankfully classes are only fifty minutes because that was some boring crap as well.

I went to the bathroom, ate some peanut butter crackers that I found in my book bag, and then went to fourth bell where I saw Ivy and Jade, two friends who I used to hang out with. Ivy was so cute with her little dimples. I wonder whatever happened to her. I decided to look her up on f*******: when I returned to my own time.

Jade was exotic, light-skinned with "good" hair, and was the most popular of the girls that I hung out with. She was thin and looked good sporting gaucho pants and a ruffled blouse. Everyone wore polyester, or bell bottoms, big collars, and nylon shirts with colorful graphic designs along with Chucks or Buddies.

Well, I wasn't here to change the fashion world, just to stand out in it. The way my mom had…

It dawned on me that my mother had been a black activist—not a militant. She hadn't tried to fight the world, just fight to change it. Wow, I'm learning…and maybe that was the reason that I was here.

My friends didn't say much about my hair, and I knew that they didn't like it short. I wondered how much long it would be before Anita Baker would introduce her beautiful short tresses to the world.

Fourth bell was algebra. Bingo! I'm an accountant so this would be a breeze. My eyes fell on the teacher. Wait…was that Mr. Bryant? He stood over six feet tall with a thick ex-football player body, broad shoulders, a clean-shaven head, and a goatee against a milk chocolate complexion.

Well dayum…why had I never looked at Mr. Bryant? He was fine! At fifty-one I would be much too old for him because he looked to be in his early thirties. When I was a kid I probably thought he was old. And there wasn't a ring on that finger.

Wait…what the hell am I doing? I am not here to ogle the teacher, even as fine as he is. I am here to make changes.

Now if memory served me correctly, I had not been very good in algebra. It was time to make straight A's and maybe get a scholarship so that I wouldn't be a fifty-one-year-old who was still paying off her college loan. If this was a movie, then I'd make enough changes in my life to return to my own time and everything would be better. I'd be rich, married to Mr. Bryant, and have kids who were better adjusted.