Center City act like it made of platinum, and up northwest they a bunch of rich white stuck up neighborhoods, but I’m stuck in the rotten soul of the city falling down all over us. Broken glass never get cleaned up. Young bols killing young bols. Bitches killing bitches. They don’t know what they do, but they know they gotta do it. Raw project law. Never shook the hand of nobody who own no stores. They always behind bulletproof glass.

Have I ever been out of town? Naw, everything I know is here. I’d love to get out, but where would I go? We ain’t allowed to live noplace else. But don’t you dare feel sorry for me. I’ll kick you ass if you try that shit.

No matter what I crawl through, no matter how wrong it be, everybody try to stop me being angry. They say, “It’s not appropriate.” What they actually sayin’ is my real pain take up too much of they time. Gotta keep the factory goin’, can’t stop for a messy human. I gotta make a way out of no way.

“Miss Briggs.”

“Mr. Price.” Why that man always gotta say some obvious shit. Waste of air, that all he be.

“I told you I never wanted to see you in my office again.”

“Then don’t. I’m not trying to be here.” Not in this crazy, messed-up room. Some things in his office look like they belong in rich white folks’ houses. Glass cases and dark wood. Shiny new laptop. But the room still got cracks on the walls, old paint that look like mold. One wall look pregnant, like it thinking about falling on our heads.

“Miss Briggs. You will not disrespect me in my own office.”

“That so? Things sure change, don’t they?”

Mr. Price slammed his fist on the desk. I knew I could make him snap. The more all the rich people try to glue theyselves together, the more they snap. Oh, look, now he putting on his reasonable face. The one he use when he want me to believe he care real deep about me. He think he God’s blessing to the world, gonna save us all from ourselves just so we’ll thank him.

“Nevaya, I am making … an exceptional effort … not to call the police. Don’t make me do it.” He gonna sit there and lie to me like that? He can’t press no charges. I know those Blumburg bitches don’t want no police in the way. And even if Price could throw me in jail, I ain’t make him do shit.

Principals and teachers must think we stupid. They quick to suspend us beginning of the year. Tell us they won’t put up with none of us losing our minds. And for awhile, they do kick out some young bols. But then the numbers pile up. If they suspend and kick out too much, then they the ones who look bad. So they find excuses to pretend we don’t do what we do. Keep the numbers looking pretty. Oh, yeah. They think I’m too dumb to figure that one out. So I just let them think that stupid shit. Cause when they think that, I win.

“Nevaya, I’m talking to you.”

“Yes, you are.”

“And I think you owe me an explanation for what you did.”

“Those bitches –“

“Don’t change the subject. Why did you do what you did?”

“Because I had to!” People in charge sure do like to pretend we can all hold hands and just walk away from a fight. If I did that, the fight would bum rush me. They think they so smart, but what they really telling me to do is let myself get jumped. And then they shake they heads and act sad and sorry for me. We got this program for you, we got that program for you. We promise this time it will change everything. Nothing at all like that program last year that was gonna change everything for me. Try to fool theyselves into believing they saved the world.

“You did not have to. You could have ignored them and walked away.” Yup. What did I just tell you? They always say that. “They didn’t hit first. You did.”

“If I didn’t, they would have!”

“You don’t know that.” Like fuck I don’t. “I keep telling you you need to find a way to de-escalate.” Oh, my fucking God! I’d like to see one of these soft motherfuckers “de-escalate.” They’d get they ass stomped in. I could sell tickets. Everybody’d like to see folks who work in a school get theyselves a big mudhole in they ass. Especially fuckheads who went to college and think they know it all.

“You need to find ways of thinking outside the box.” Oh, my fucking God!!! Mr. Price don’t even need to be here. He would just have somebody play a file of what I already heard a million times. Always the same shit by people who don’t know what they talking about, but they think they so smart. The faces change; the words don’t. They think they can make me change my mind by yelling the same thing at me my whole life. I stopped listening a thousand years ago.

“Tell me what I can do to help you.”

“Kill those smuts for me. Do it slow.”

“You know you don’t mean that.”

“Don’t tell me what I don’t mean. I ain’t no child.” I wish just once an adult would offer to help me and mean it. But no, I can’t trust any of them. At least those Blumburg smuts don’t front. They evil, right on the surface, no hiding. Nothing I hate more than some big, friendly smile fronting for a devil.

The noise file wouldn’t stop. “I know you don’t want to hear this –“

“Then don’t say it!”

“- but you are still technically a child. And that’s ok. I used to be just like you.” Mmm hmm, anybody say that, it mean the conversation all about them. I might as well not be in the room. Just have that noise file play to an empty chair. “I understand just what it’s like to be a young person.” Nobody who really understand anything gotta let folks know how smart they is. If you have it, we already gonna know.

“This is your lucky day.” Mr. Price’s eyes stayed on me just a beat too long. Just like most grownups. I knew he thought he so slick I wouldn’t feel his nasty self oozing out to step to me.

“Mr. Price, why you staring at me? I ain’t your shorty.”

“Nevaya! You will not disrespect me like that! How dare you!” Veins dancing, sweat pretending it wasn’t there, eyes putting on a show of being offended. He sure knew just how offended to pretend to be. Took him no time at all to figure out what I meant. Bet he already rehearsed his answer. “I am a married man and would never treat my students like that. I care about all of you, but not like that. The idea of anyone abusing any of you in that way makes me sick to my stomach.” You never know, he might even believe that shit he say. But I ain’t taking that bet.

“Good for you.”

Quickly, he put on his calm voice, his saving-the-world voice, as if he never yelled. His shame-on-you-for-even-thinking-I-ever-yell fake warmth, warm like January concrete. “Nevaya.” Smiling, trying that eye contact trick all the players like. They think they so slick when they pretend to look at my face. “I think we both know what you’re trying to do. As always, instead of dealing with your own misbehavior, you change the subject by pretending someone did something to you.”

I stared straight ahead. No way I was playing this game. “I never pretend. I ain’t got time.” Why that man never say what he really mean?! Always hiding behind “someone” and “something.” That really make me feel some kind of way.

“I am a merciful man. I think of my students as my own children. I grew up in North Philly. I used to be just like you.” Fuck outta here. Fuck all the way outta here. Only person who ever used to be just like me is me. “I’m cooler than other folks my age.” Mmm hmm. Once again, if you gotta say you it, then you ain’t it. “I’m strict, and I believe in the rules, but I don’t think you would be well served by being kept out of school. And that’s what really matters. Your education.”

Ha! I knew it! Like I said, if this was September, I’d be kicked out by the next day. But it almost March, and those suspension numbers have piled up. Big bad principal sliced up by paper pushers. About my education, my ass.

“So I’m not suspending you this time. Instead, I want you to complete a ten-page research paper on the history of nonviolence.”

Now … if I believed I was really going to have to write that paper, I’d have told him he was a crazy grandmotherfucker. But I knew how this go down. I come up with this or that sincere, almost crying excuse for why the paper not done yet. Saying I have a big family emergency is the best way to go. Maybe my cousin got shot.

Eventually, he’ll forget that he told me to write it. He can look all serious about school now and never have to follow up.

“Aiight, Mr. Price, I’ll write the paper.”

“That’s good, Nevaya. See how far being reasonable can take you? If you can keep up this change in attitude, you can go places in life. There was this time I was your age and feeling just like you …”

His story was days long. To keep myself from smacking him down, my head went through all of Kelis’ jawns. Every word and beat. Not the first time she helped me get through the day. Maybe she getting old, somewhere around thirty, but she ain’t forgot about life yet. That scratch in her voice tell the truth. She showed me the world when I was ten, so I'll always have her back.

Every minute or so, I said “Uh huh” and sounded real interested. Gotta pick my battles. The playing field here always weighted against me. I knew that in a fair fight, Price be face down. Bleeding from a hundred holes. Today a good day in one way: at least Price not boring me to death trying to get me to like his corny oldhead music. Nobody alive listen to that shit he like, but he preach and preach about it, like I’d let anybody see me dance to somebody with a name like Run DMV, DMC, whatever the fuck it is.

“And Nevaya …” Uh oh, he gonna have to find something to pick on to make sure I know he think he won. “I don’t want to have to keep telling you to obey the rules about school uniforms. I expect better from you than to wear jeans under your uniform pants.”

So I got away with a warning, just like I said I would. I left the office and waved at one of the cameras in the hall. School uniform rules one of a thousand parts of life that don’t make no sense. They say it for our own good, so we not distracted by clothes, not tearing each other down for not having the right name, the right style. And they think if we not distracted, we can concentrate on school, be in the right frame of mind to learn. Uniforms ain’t stopped nobody from tearing nobody down. We all notice if some broke ass bitch wear the same uniform every day, with the same stain on the same part of they shirt. We know who buy they shoes from Payless or get them from the church and mosque poor piles. I don’t give a fuck about none of that, but I know everybody’s business, anyway. We all hear about it whether we ask or not. And now we gotta buy a bunch of clothes so ugly we never gonna wear them outside this falling-down, ugly-ass building. Maybe they figure that since the school building all ruined, the clothes have to match.