Lies We Tell ✔

The Twenty-third Dance

I turned to face the source of the noise, and my eyes landed on Nigel's table. Poor Nigel was caught in a scene straight out of an action movie. A tall, buff black boy with a buzz cut was holding up a skinny white kid by the cuff of his shirt. A chair toppled over onto the floor behind the bigger boy. Nigel stood off to the side, just gawking.

"Say that again?" The taller guy, who I recognized as the vice president of Black Student Union, Malik, shook the smaller one's shirt collar. Malik's booming voice echoed through the nearly silent dining hall. "Say it. I dare you."

"I said," the other boy choked, his voice not nearly as impressive, "if you can wear a shirt that says Black Lives Matter, I should be able to wear one that says White Lives Matter."

Gasps echoed around the room. Malik was quivering with anger. Actually quivering. I could tell even from a distance.

Malik roared, "You got no idea—none—about what that phrase symbolizes. Decades of hatred and oppression. Decades. White Lives Matter?" His voice shook. Around him, his fellow Black Student Union members stood there with a fierce sort of pride on their faces, nodding their friend on. "Since when have whites faced discrimination or been targeted by hate crimes? Ever feared for your life because of the color of your damn skin? Answer me, you ignorant, privileged punk!"

The other boy didn't say anything. Probably couldn't even get enough air to respond.

All around me, people were frozen in their seats, eyes glued to the scene. The Korean Student Association kids just got up and left, horrified looks on their faces, fleeing the scene before violence broke out.

I heard a sob next to me. Turned around and saw Olivia with her face buried in her hands, swiping away tears. Before I could think of something to say to soothe her, she leapt out of her seat, face a mess of tears and angry red splotches, and sprinted across the dining hall.

"What's she doing?" Chris demanded, shooting up out of his seat. His jaw hung slightly open.

None of the other onlookers moved a muscle. Too mesmerized. Too shocked. Maybe even scared. I watched as Olivia first approached the shaken but completely untouched figure of Nigel. She placed her hand on his back, but didn't linger for long.

Next thing I knew, Olivia had marched right up to Malik and planted herself firmly in front of him. "Stop," she ordered, her voice ringing through the dining hall, loud and clear.

"Who the hell're you?" Malik demanded. He didn't loosen his grip on the other boy.

Olivia didn't back down. In fact, she stood up straighter. "My name is Mingmei," my cousin declared. "I am also member of the Black Student Union."

The boy took no care to hide his double take, openly gaping at my cousin.

Olivia steamrollered on. "And I am here to tell you you are wrong."

Probably because he was just as shocked as the rest of us, Malik only blinked at her. For someone whose native language wasn't English, my cousin had become impressively eloquent. "That boy might say a stupid thing. But if you fight back, you also become the bad person. If you think black lives really matter, let him go. Look. You are scaring Nigel." Olivia pointed her finger at our hallmate, who was indeed quivering.

"I'm scared for you," Nigel insisted in a loud, carrying whisper.

The tension in the air was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. The larger boy glared down at Olivia. But she stood her ground. The dining hall workers had abandoned their stations and circled around the table, looking as though they were ready to leap in and defuse the situation any minute.