brat. [ interracial ]

king.

        he walked in late as fuck like he owned the classroom or something, his camoflauge roshe runs meshing with the dingy carpet the geometry classroom was equipped with. i watched his shiny i.d. swing against his black shirt, not noticing the name but noticing his grade, then chuckled to myself. i pieced together why he was late, and who he was, thinking he was someone from another classroom that had to deliver a message.

        i squinted my eyes when i watched him promenade through the class, looking for a free seat. he found one behind me, then started working on the warm-up problem the teacher had given us. umm, who told this freshman it was okay to be in 10th grade geometry? little nigga ain't part of the squad.

        i say 'nigga' like he's anything close to black. no, he had the demeanor of one of us, but he wasn't. i say he was middle eastern or something, since he was olive skinned, and had dark hair. then again, he could have a little black in him. these days, you never know.

"is he lost or something?" my desk partner, porsha, asked me, echoing my thoughts exactly.

"don't know. had to have been, look at how late he was." i giggled. 

        a tap on my shoulder genuinely surprised me. "don't worry about what i was doing that made me late," he spoke authoritatively. my shock must have been apparent, because he said, "you need to learn how to whisper better."

"and you need to learn how to stay out of grown folks' business when they not talking to you!" i fired back, hissing.

"grown folks?" he grabbed my i.d., then looked at my grade. "please, you're probably not even a whole year older than me. gone somewhere."

"so? i'm still more grown than you!" i felt like i was losing this argument, but i still had to hold my ground. even if i was wrong.

        he snatched my i.d. up once more so he could find out my name. "jamilla, you ain't even grown titties yet." i didn't bother to correct him, that my name is not just jamilla, but jamilla rei because yass bitch, i was blessed with two first names. i was too embarassed to care at the moment.

my arms immediately flew up to my chest, covering myself up. damn genetics, i cursed in my head. "and?" i asked with a scowl.

        "mr. romano and ms. westbrooks, focus on the assignment up here and not each other, please," the teacher warned up front, stopping her repetitive path from both ends of the smartboard. the whole class, including some of my old friends, erupted into laughter. my face burned, and i didn't bother to look back to see this irritating-ass mr. romano character's face. 

"won't happen no more," i mumbled in apology. everybody was still staring. "what y'all niggas looking at?" i snapped.

"ms. westbrooks, watch your language, or i'm calling your parents."

        i was tempted to catch an attitude with her, but decided not to. it wasn't worth it, and i didn't feel like going on punishment on the first day of school for taking my frustration out on somebody who really didn't deserve it. "yes ma'am."

        the remainder of geometry went on smoothly, until this asshole behind me tapped my shoulder again. "hey, what'd she just write down on the board? i wasn't done copying the slide." he chewed on his bottom lip, not looking at me, but looking at his paper, and he was simultaneously making a beat with his black mechanical pencil.

        i was about to brush him off, give him the cold shoulder, but took pity on him. he was probably just getting used to the swing of high school. maybe he was late this morning because he missed the bus or something. everybody had to start, and it didn't help if they had an upperclassman to be mean to them just because they didn't feel like they belonged on their turf. so, i decided to pass him my notebook. class was almost over, anyway, and it's not like the teacher was saying anything important.