Steady, thick lines of black paint across the cardboard poster, outlined with bright white paint. The fist Nala had painted onto her sign was large and proud, a symbol that filled her chest with pride. She set her paintbrush down, flipping a long braid over her scrawny shoulder.
"Honey?" Her mother rapped on the door softly, before turning the door handle.
Nala's mother Zuri was a woman of short build, and had raised her daughter right. She took in the poster Nala had crafted, a proud smile forming on her face.
"Black Lives Matter." Her mother read out the words on her poster softly. "You excited?"
"for the protest?" Nala grinned. "Obviously. I'm so excited mom, you don't even know."
When Nala had heard about the protests planned in Minneapolis, she knew she had to go. Her own uncle had been shot by a police officer when she was young, so the case of George Floyd hit close to home.
"I'm glad." Her mother took a seat on her bed. "I remember my first protest, you best believe I screamed until my throat was raw."
Nala hopped up, her bare feet brushing at her shag rug. Her father was of Korean descent, meaning they hardly ever wore shoes inside the house. She slipped on the slippers she wore inside the house only, taking a seat at her dressing table.
"Jesus." Her mother muttered in exasperation, eyeing the bra slung upon the ceiling fan. "Your room needs to be desperately cleaned. It's disgusting, how can you live like this?"
"Mom." Nala complained. "I'll do it when I get back, you know I will."
Nala liked her room. It was small, but it had character. Each wall was plastered with posters of her favourite bands and artists, and she had colour changing lights. It felt like home to her, the nonsensical clutter and the abundance of green plants.
"When's Fatimah going to come?" Her mother asked.
"She should be here soon, I told her to come at 1." Nala checked the clock on her wall.
"Alright, I need to go pick up your brother. Make sure to tell your dad before you go."
Her mother walked out, closing the door with a soft click.
Nala took the opportunity to pull out her phone to text Fatimah. Fatimah, her long time best friend since elementary was late as usual. She was about to text her, when the doorbell caught her atention.
"Coming!" She yelled out, bounding down the stairs and through the living room to the front door.
"Nala, do not run in the house." Her dad said disapprovingly. "How many times do i have to tell you?"
"Sorry, dad!" She grinned.
Opening the door revealed Fatimah, holding multiple signs across her chest. She smiled sheepishly.
"I didn't know which one to bring."
Laughing aloud, Nala invited her in.
Fatimah took off her shoes, greeting her father with a respectful nod.
"Hello, Mr. Jeong."
Nala's father lowered his glasses, peering at her friend over his lenses.
"Hello, Fatimah. How is your mom and dad?"
"Not now dad!" Nala said in exasperation. "We have to go."
"Bah!" her dad exclaimed, shaking his head fondly. "You young people are always in such a hurry."
She shook her head and ran to her room, dragging Fatimah along. Closing the door, the two of them made equally shrill sounds of excitement.
"How cool is this?" Fatimah squealed.
