Second Chances

"This is not a race issue. This is a commitment to education issue."

The room erupted in applause, as though saying the words made them true. A man whistled in the back, cheering wildly. The blonde in the yellow sundress stood at the microphone, nodding emphatically at the crowd. Her demeanor was aggressive as she continued, "I have lived in underprivileged areas. What I am saying today is not about race. And I just want to say to anyone who wants to cry that it is a race issue, I'm sorry. That's your prejudice, calling me a racist because my skin is white, and I'm concerned about my children's education and safety."

Hatred, anger, despair, frustration-they swirled and ebbed inside Lakeisha, none of them solid enough to grasp. She was darker than the other adults in the room, but that didn't give them the right to treat her like a criminal. To treat her daughter, not yet a teenager, like an animal. She looked down at her innocent child, wondering what was going through her mind.

Kenni was sitting cross-legged on the floor with a blank expression on her young face, watching the blonde mother addressing the crowd. She had deep black skin like her father but her mother's nose. It was-thankfully-the only trait she had inherited from Lakeisha. All of her good parts came from James.

She always reminded Lakeisha of her late husband, a bittersweet token of what they once had and was no longer. Kenni was eleven, not really sure what was going on at this town hall meeting, yet the hatred and fear emanating from the audience of white parents pressed against her anyway.

The hate wasn't directed at Kenni or Lakeisha. Not precisely. There was never a mention of names or examples, only abstract comparisons. The fog of hate was simply present in the auditorium, an apparition filling the air as people vented their frustration and anger.

The bleachers were packed in the school auditorium at Northmont Middle School, row upon row of well-dressed white parents. The murmur running through the crowd was that of a cornered animal, ready to strike and protect its young. Most of their white children had been left at home with babysitters while the parents went to do battle.

"I can't believe this," Nichole murmured from beside Lakeisha. She shuffled a step closer and folded her arms defensively, frowning. "I can't believe they would say things like this."

Nichole was her elder daughter, having just turned seventeen and soon to graduate from high school. Her skin was lighter than Kenni's, but she still stood out in the crowd.

"Neither can I," Lakeisha responded.

They stood with a small pocket of black and Latino parents, certainly no more than twenty, huddled in the back right corner of the auditorium. Most were stuck standing since seats hadn't been set up this far back. Lakeisha kept one hand on Kenni's shoulder, anchoring them both. The folded program in her other hand had gone soft and damp where she gripped it. They didn't feel like mingling, so instead were tucked away and out of sight of the white parents filling the rest of the area.

This group gathered together in quiet desperation, amazed the white townsfolk were so brazen and outspoken about the recent court order: a few weeks earlier, an injunction had been put in place that would add diversity to this school by allowing more students to be bussed in from neighboring districts.

Lakeisha had brought Kenni along because this represented her future. She was one of the students who would be starting at Northmont in a few weeks. After living in a poverty-stricken neighborhood for fifteen years, Lakeisha had finally won the right for her children to change schools, along with a selection of other parents in her district.

It had been a long-running lawsuit that would send hundreds of low-income children, mostly black, to this highly ranked suburban school. Northmont School District's minority numbers were in the single digits, so the judge thought it would be good for the school as well.