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"Welcome to the office," I showed Shayla and Alice around.
Shayla agreed to join the magazine only if Alice could join which was fine with me. The more people on staff the faster we can publish stuff.
"This is Eddie, the sports editor, and Tiana, our news editor," I introduced everyone, "I'm the chief editor."
"That's it?" Shayla asked, "No wonder no one knows this exists but don't worry, I can change that."
Maybe I shouldn't have invited her to join.
The last thing I need is someone challenging my authority. I'm the one who started this magazine and I know it will blow up before I graduate. This will be my legacy.
"Do you have anything to just school events? I have a lot of connections since I'm class president," Alice smiled.
Alice is the perfect all-around student. I voted for her last year because she said she was going to fight for the school's creative programs. The athletic teams, mainly boys basketball, run the school and get all the money. Which is a reason why the magazine isn't very popular, we can't afford to print many copies. I've talked to Dr. Thomas and she said there's nothing she can do.
"That sounds perfect," I said, "We meet once a week and then every day the week before the deadline. If you have any ideas for articles, just run them by me first," I explained.
The remained of our meeting was spent coming up with ideas for the December issue. Shayla decided to name her op-ed column Let Me Clear My Throat and Alice is going to write about everything that goes on in school.
Black Voices will be a success.
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Shayla dragged her feet as she walked up the steps to her home, dreading the lecture she knew she was about to get for getting into another argument at school. Mr. Weaver, the anglo-saxon English teacher with Klan like tendencies and alt- right adjacent ideals, called Shayla's mom because she refuses to read the Great Gatsby and became mute during class, which is her favorite form of protest.
When she entered the apartment she was greeted with silence. She let out a sigh of relief then rushed to her room, with the plan to pretend she was asleep so her mom wouldn't yell at her as soon as she got home. Her plan was foiled when she saw her mom and stepdad sitting on her bed, waiting.
"Explain," Shayla's mom said sternly while tapping her foot on the carpet.
"Mommy, I'd like to have this conversation without the colonizer being present," she glared at her stepdad who's just a plain old white guy, the kind that is the poster child for privilege. The, my great great grandfather came to this country and worked hard so why can't you, type who sings Sweet Caroline way too loud and is painfully whinny whenever slavery is brought up.
Shayla's mom married Gabe five years ago but Shayla only started to dislike him about seven months ago when he asked her mom to cook quinoa and kale to go with the baked chicken. She found the white man's suggestion of tasteless food utterly disrespectful and hasn't spoken to him since.
Instead of arguing, as usual, Gabe left the room. Shayla took a seat next to her mother then placed her head on her shoulder.
"Go on Shay," her mom said.
"I have decided that I will no longer entertain literature that doesn't have any black people in it."
"I understand that Shay," her mother said, "but you have to pick and choose your battles wisely. Not reading the book isn't going to help your grade."
Shayla groaned and fell back on her bed, staring at the blank ceiling.
"You joined a newspaper right?" her mother lay next to her, "Do some research on why black literature should be taught in school."
"I can do that."
"Well get to it," her mom said then left the room.
"This white man better get ready for the most elegantly written drag of all time," Shayla thought then opened her computer and began her research.
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thanks for reading!
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