This book is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people or situations are strictly a coincidence. 

This is for all the brown girls and brown boys out there with active, creative minds because the world needs more authors who write in color. It's also for my kick ass friends and and family who shamelessly share all my articles and read my high school writing, no matter how bad it was. And lastly to Columbia, MO you made my freshman year and the three years that followed truly unforgettable. 

August 2011

“I can’t believe it’s fucking raining!”

“Kay, watch your mouth, you may be going to college, but are not there yet.”

I mean I basically was. Finally, after nine months of counting down, it was happening. I was sitting in a hotel room just a few short miles away from the University of Missouri. My dream school, home of the best Journalism school in the country and I was ready to take it head on, but more importantly, I was ready to get the fuck out of Indiana. For good.

“Kayla, did you hear me!?”

How could I not hear her? My mom’s voice carries like none other. I mean, where does she think I got my loud voice from?

“Sorry mom,” I replied.

Anyway, there I was, about to start my journey to adulthood, everything was about to change. I purposefully picked a school six hours away so that there would be so surprise family reunions, no quick weekend trips and plenty of physical space between me and my life in Indiana.

I don’t know what I have against my home state, I really don’t. I wasn‘t forced to move there because one of my parents got a new job. I didn’t grow up in a cramped apartment with shoddy wifi and no AC and I even got the opportunity to get out of Indiana at least once every year. In fact, two months earlier we were all in Hawaii.

But that’s not the point.

Indiana just never felt like home to me. When I was forced to go to public high school I never made any legit friends. Sure I played a Varsity sport and helped edit the school newspaper, but that didn’t really land me in the spotlight except for when athletes were trying to get their faces on the front page. As if anyone besides them gave a shit about a brand new high school’s shitty sports teams.

I just always wanted out.

It’s funny, I always thought I’d end up somewhere a little more glamorous than the middle of Missouri, like Chicago, or New York City. Before I even heard of Mizzou I had my heart set on Stanford although I don’t really remember why. It may have just been because at 2,314.9 miles away from my parents front door, it was literally the furthest I could get away without it looking suspicious (I mean c’mon, it’s fucking Stanford).

Everything changed when I went to a journalism conference in St. Louis with my high school’s newspaper staff. There was a portion of the conference reserved for colleges. I had zero interest in going to a college fair, but at the time I figured going to rub elbows with cute college guys couldn’t hurt, so that’s what I did.

It was there that I saw an obnoxious black and yellow table with tons of cut out tigers. It was so tacky, I actually scoffed, out loud. But that table also had one of the cutest boys I had seen all week. He was tall with a shaved head and beautiful chocolate skin. He had a smile as wide as a billboard and at the end were two perfect fucking dimples. He was wearing the obnoxious black and yellow colors to match the table, but somehow at the time I found that cute. So I went up to him introduced myself and for at least five minutes acted like I knew exactly what Mizzou was, which I think worked until the very end when he chanted “M-I-Z!” and I had no clue what to say back. Awk. (If you’re wondering the proper response is “Z-O-U” unless by off chance we’re playing kU then your response should be “FUCK KU!” as loud as possible.)

To this day I don’t know if it was the way that beautiful chocolate man engaged with me or if it was some other force that pulled me in, but I was hooked. What the hell was Stanford? Just a faint memory to me at that point. As far as I was concerned, I was going to Mizzou and it was going to be fucking awesome.

* * *

October 2010

“OH MY GOD KAY!”

Fuck, it’s Monday morning and we just finished midterms last week, what could Brianna possibly want? Maybe I can ignore her, I mean my headphones are in. Yup sold. Ignoring her.

“Kay? KAY! Ugh--excuse you! Jeez athletes walk around this place like they have a winning record, move it meat head!”

Oh Brianna, the only person to ever really serve as a frenemy in my life. We met in summer school my freshman year. She was nice and her senior pothead boyfriend would give me rides home so I didn’t have to ride my bike, so I fucked with her a lot back then. Somehow she found out about Mizzou even though she didn’t even go on the newspaper trip and she’s been talking my ear off about it ever since.

Brianna is a sweet girl, she means well, she’s super smart, but she’s a bit of a know it all and isn’t aware when she’s disclosing too much information. But I love the girl. She has been a solid friend over the last four years. Plus, she’s quick on her feet which kept me out of trouble.

Against my better judgement I decide to turn around and see what all the fuss is about. Knowing her it couldn’t have been that bad.

“Oh good you heard me!” she says as I turn around.

“Yeah, sorry I was in my own world a little bit, what’s up?”

“Well, as you know I narrowed my list of schools down to five.”

“Uh huh.”

“One of which was Mizzou with my bestie!” she squealed. It’s too early for that.

“OK…”

“Well...I got in!” she squealed again, only this time it was accompanied by jumping up and down.

Look I get it, getting into your dream school, or any school for that matter is a big deal. I had gotten into every school I applied to so far and with Brianna’s news so had she. But I hadn’t heard from Mizzou yet and if she had I wondered if that was bad news for me.

“That’s um awesome Brianna! Congrats.” I didn’t mean that. Yes I did. I was happy for her, but I wished it were me. Everyone at school knew at least two things about me if nothing else: 1) I hate Indiana and just about everyone in it and 2) I wanted to go to Mizzou, badly.

I couldn’t have Brianna’s news getting out too much people love to assume things and Brianna’s acceptance into Mizzou would quickly turn into a rumor about my denial from Mizzou, which hadn’t been confirmed yet.

I snap out of my racing thoughts and focus back on Brianna. She’s been talking for a while (as usual) but usually I can pick up in the middle of her rambles and be fine.

“...so yeah basically my step mom just totally spaced getting the mail all last week. Probably because she fired our maid.”

Yeah you heard that right. A maid. Indiana may have been a land locked stated in the midwest, but in the town I grew up in, you would have thought it was the OC. Everyone was just so...white. That’s part of the reason I didn’t fit in. I wasn’t pretty like most of the girls at the school and my skin was only sought after when some pervert fuckhead wanted to be able to say he had been with a black girl. I was never interested.

Last week their maid found some incriminating evidence while she was cleaning the house. I guess she called Brianna’s step mom out on it and so she fired her on the spot. Of course that’s not the story she told her husband. Now they’re maid-less and I guess it’s really hard for them seeing as Bri’s step mom can’t even handle getting the mail on her own. I mean their mailbox is a far walk from their actual front door and Bri’s mom does stay in the house all day, so I guess it makes sense.

Brianna was still talking when I zoned back in for a second time. I wondered if she talked this much at home. In our four years of friendship she had always come to my house for holidays and sleepovers, but I had never been to hers which I never questioned until now. I mean she did have the bigger house and a maid who would have cooked us anything we wanted. Damn, I really fucked that one up. I was just hoping that the first period bell would ring before Brianna got the chance to ask me about my acceptance. Just a week earlier my dad said that his coworker’s friend, who also went to Mizzou said that it was hard to get in, especially out of state. What if Brianna took my spot? I mean she couldn’t have, right? But at the same time they’ve got to reserve a spot for the black girl at the predominately white school in the suburbs. Affirmative action is still a thing and I’m a much better choice than someone well, not from the suburbs.

*RING*

 Yes, the first period bell, signaling that Brianna had exactly seven minute to wrap up whatever she was dragging on about so that we could get to class on time, or at least so I could. I hate being late.

I guess even if I did dodge the acceptance question for now there was always later. I mean Brianna and I are always together. Lunch, newspaper, study hall, how the fuck was I going to ignore her until I found out the status of my application? Ugh, why is this happening to me? I always get the short end of the stick. Seriously. I wait for Ashton Kutcher to jump out and tell me I’m on a non-celeb version of Punk’d almost daily. No luck yet.

“So...are you in?!”

Aw shit. Play it cool Kayla, you’ve got about 60 seconds and then you can dash to class.

“Umm,” my voice was shaking, “Wha-what did you say?”

“Did you get in? To Mizzou! Are we going to be classmates or better yet roommates?!?”

We were most certainly NOT going to be roommates. Ever.

Brianna knows me too well. She knows everyone too well. She was like the high school crier, she knew everyone’s business, sometimes before they knew it. Our junior year, two hours before the homecoming dance she knew that Charlie, our star (I use that word loosely) quarterback was going to dump his date Delaney for a freshman named Raven. Granted she only knew that because her and Raven spent that afternoon in Saturday detention. I guess Raven got Charlie’s number somehow and sent her nudes to him. Completely unsolicited. Right after the nudes she sent a series of texts explaining to him how he was going to ditch Delaney right before the dance and take her instead. Brianna practically helped Raven write those texts and then proceeded to text our entire group of friends the gossip. I still can’t believe that didn’t get back to Delaney sooner or that to this day she took him back. Whatever.

I had to figure out what I was going to say to Brianna. I didn’t want to lie, but would saying I don’t know make me look like a liar? I mean that was the truth. I didn’t know. I hadn’t heard anything.

“Oh uh, I don’t know, we went to Bloomington last minute this past weekend for my brother’s basketball tournament so I haven’t had time to go through my mail.”

That was half true. My brother did have a basketball tournament this past weekend. Unfortunately I was at work all weekend, but since my friends are all skinny bitches who refuse to eat carbs every other week they never bother to come visit me at the bakery where I work. Which for the first time in four year has worked out in my favor. Huh.

“Ohhh ok. Well I’m sure it’s in your pile of mail at home. We should go to your house for lunch and check!”

She cannot be serious? Is she serious?

It’s 7:38 and first period starts at 7:40, I hadn’t even been to my locker yet.

“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know I really need to do my math homework before sixth. I’ll just check after school. I gotta go, class!” I rushed upstairs to my locker and it felt like my heart was pounding out my chest. I didn’t even look Bri in the eyes as I dashed upstairs, I knew she would would have known I was lying if I did. As I was practically running away I could hear her say something, but I couldn’t quite make out what it was.

“OK sounds good, bye Bri!” I yelled back. Even if she said something that warranted a legit response she’d repeat it later. She always did.

* * *

I spent all day in my office in the publications lab, which Bri had totally authority to walk into anytime she wanted, after all she was our best photographer, but she didn’t. She knew if I was in there that I was on deadline or having a rough day and didn’t want to be bothered. So she kept her distance.

It’s not that I was having a bad day I was just freaking out. By second period I had assumed that I didn’t get in and I immediately started thinking of excuses that I could tell people so that it wouldn’t seem like a big deal.

That’s what I hate most about high school, even if no one cared about you 99 percent of the time, there was always that one percent chance that everyone was going to care about something happening in your life, especially when it came to college decisions.

I went to one of the best public high schools in the state. When I went on college visits in Indiana and introduced myself, admissions reps perked up because they knew I was coming from a great school system with teachers who actually gave a fuck.

When the seventh period bell rang I sprinted towards my locker and then out the emergency exit door, (which for whatever reason maintenance still hadn’t figured out was broken-- that’s how all the smokers got their fix during the day) jumped in my car and headed home.

I burst into my house dragging my feet and shuffling the papers in my hand loudly, I made sure the door flung all the way open and hit the door stopper to make a loud thud noise. Both of my parents were already home, which never happens, so I decided to make a scene (I swear with a little practice I could be an actress).

“Mom? MOM!”

“I’m in the kitchen Kayla.”

I walk in the kitchen to meet her.

“What’s gotten into you Kayla? Why are you bursting in the house screaming?”

As if you never scream, mom. Everything you say is at voice level of ten.

“Mom, did any mail come for me last weekend?”

“I don’t know Kay that’s what your mailbox is for, got check it.”

We each have our own mailbox and cubby at my house. I used to feel like I was in kindergarten having to put my shoes perfectly in a the square, but it’s pretty convenient now. Usually my brother gets the mail and sorts it, but he always throws it in our boxes in the least cohesive way possible. Bills from last week could end up at the bottom and Christmas cards from last year at the top. It was so frustrating, but no one else remembered to check it the way he did, so we kept letting him do it.

I rushed to the mudroom where our mailboxes and cubbies were and tore through my mailbox. There were bank account statements and banks offering me a credit card, but no letter from Mizzou. I felt defeated. I panicked and immediately I broke down and started crying. I leaned up against the wall and slowly sunk down to the floor. I felt like a muddy puddle. How could Bri have gotten something and not me. It wasn’t fair.

I checked my phone, three missed calls from Bri and a text that read “WELL?”

I ignored her and turned my phone off. She’d just assume I either got grounded or that my day was really that terrible. Either way, it bought me more time. I wiped the black tears from from my cheek and tried to slow down my breathing. At that point my mom realized I had been crying and came to see about me.

“What’s going on Kay?”

I didn’t answer her, I didn’t want to talk about it. But my mom almost never accepts that as a option so I knew eventually she’d get me to talk. I gave in sooner than expected.

“I didn’t get into Mizzou,” I said with my head hanging down. I didn’t even bother to look up at her.

What? Why not? Aw I’m so sorry Kayla, what did they say?”

What’d they say? Was she serious? Mizzou has an enrollment of at least 32,000 students and she thought that they took the time to tell applicants why they weren’t accepted into the school. With that one question, I was pissed.

“I don’t know mom, they don’t have time to tell me why I suck so bad, instead they tell me nothing.”

“I mean what’d the letter say Kayla,” she said with an attitude. “No a college isn’t going to tell you what they didn’t like about you, but they do send you a denial letter.”

“Well I didn’t get a denial letter.”

“Then how do you know you didn’t get in!” she said with her voice raised. I look up at her and her hands are on her hips as she looks down at me tapping her foot as I muster up an answer.

“Bri told me this morning she got in. She got her letter last week so I must not have made the cut.”

“Oh honey, you think a college that allows you to apply until damn near April sends out its acceptance letters all at once?”

At that point she was down on bended knee, her hand caressing my chin, forcing me to bring my head up and look at her.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Why don’t you sign into the website they gave you so you can see if they’ve even reviewed your application.”

I pulled myself up, crawled to the computer and logged in. I was trying to mentally prepare myself for the worse. Sure I had gotten into other schools, but they weren’t Mizzou. I thought back to the beautiful chocolate man that told me to apply and “keep in touch” if  did get in, what would he think of me? Our chances of dating would be ruined (I swear that’s not why I applied, at least it wasn’t the only reason). Our computer was taking forever, every second I was forced to watch the spinning rainbow wheel of death I thought I was going to hurl.

I typed in my username and password slowly to be sure it was correct and I hit enter. When I did a simple black box with text inside popped up.

It read: Application Status-Admitted.

Wait. What does that mean? Does that mean that I’m in? Do I scream? Do I ask my mom before getting excited? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!?

“Uh mom, could you come here?”

She walks over to me and rests her hands on my shoulder. I know she can tell I’m nervous, terrified that I am not going to receive the answer I so desperately want. I see Mizzou as my golden ticket out of Indiana. If I could move out of state and start my life unlike all my peers who opted for in state schools, I could do anything. I just needed the chance.

“Yes sweetheart?”

“What’s this mean?’

She pushes her glasses up on her face and squints to read it, which I never understood, but whatever, she reads it out loud over and over again as if it says something different each time. She pulls her glass down from her face, stands up straight and clears her throat.

“I mean I think it means you’re in honey, but maybe you should just call admissions and ask.”

Of course, admissions, why hadn’t I thought of that sooner? A call to them during lunch time would have solved all the anxiety I was dealing with all day. Luckily, Missouri is an hour behind Indiana, so my mom’s suggestion was not in vain. I snatched our home phone from the dock and ran upstairs to my room and dialed the number (which I knew by heart).

It barely rang once before a menu of options was given to me, but I was too lazy to listen to them so I just hit zero until I got a real person. I fucking hate automated bullshit. Just give me a live person to solve my problems. Please and thanks.

“Thank you for calling the University of Missouri, home of the Tigers, how may I help you?”

I took breathe and started explaining my situation.

“Hi my name is Kay, uh, I mean Kayla and I was wondering if I got in.”

The women on the other end of the phone seemed perplexed.

“Okay...Kayla do you know your pawprint you use to log into our database, or can you at least give me your last name?”

Of course, I doubt I’m the only Kayla applying to Mizzou. Whoops.

“Yeah my name is Kayla Smith, but my friends call me Kay.”

She didn’t need to know that Kayla.

“Alrighty let me just look you up in our system, give me one moment.”

I hear a lot typing and more voices chatting in the background. It sounds like she’s in a call center, which makes me wonder, are there that many students trying to get into Mizzou. What made me think I was qualified again?

“Okay Kayla are you there?”

“Yes ma’am, I’m here.”

“Well hun our records are showing that your application was admitted which by our standards means you’re in. You should be receiving an official letter in a few days.”

My mouth drops and with it so does the phone.

“Hello? Kayla? Helllloooo?”

I snap out of it and bend down to pick up the phone, as I reach for it I realize I am literally shaking with excitement.

“Yes I’m here and I heard you. Thank you.”

It was probably rude to just hang up the phone on her like that, but I didn’t know what else to say. I belly flopped on my bed and began to cry, happy tears of course. This was it. I was going to Mizzou. I was getting out of Indiana. No more corn fields, no more 90210 wannabe Barbie types, no more two faced friends or entitled athletes that only read my writing when they wanted to butter me up before asking to be featured in our next issue. I was going to Mizzou. I was going to study at the best journalism school in the country. All my dreams were coming true and it felt so damn good.

* * *

May 2011

“Okay students.”

The Pepsi Coliseum filled with laughter, chatter and a few tears (of joy of course). The class of 2011, the first class to spend all four years at Fishers High School was out of here! Finals were over, open house invitations sent all that was left to do was get through graduation rehearsal and walk across that stage.

I didn’t understand why we had to spend an entire day to practice walking into the coliseum, down the aisle, to our seats, up to the stage, across the podium and back to our seats when it was so intuitive. Mr. Earner, the principal, ensured us that it was “for our safety” to make sure no one did anything stupid on the day of, but the truth is it didn’t matter how much we practiced walking and sitting, if someone wanted to do something stupid during the ceremony, they were going to do something stupid during the ceremony. As long as it wasn’t during the calling of my name, I didn’t really give a shit.

“Uh uh students.”

Mr. Learner had been trying to get our attention for about five minutes now and even though he had a microphone, it just wasn’t working for him. We had been at the coliseum all morning practicing for graduation when today was supposed to be our Senior Fun Day so even though he probably only had one more announcement to make, we weren’t having it, or at least I wasn’t.

I sat on my phone scrolling through Facebook photos of high school friends last days together, I read a ton of crappy captions about graduation not being a goodbye, but a see you later. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t empathize with how anyone was feeling. These people had been going to school with one another since they were in diapers (okay maybe training pants). I had only spent the last four years with them.

Don’t get me wrong, I made some good memories, I have a few people I think I’ll stay in touch with once I move to Columbia, but for the most part, I’m over it. I’m ready to leave. High school, the Coliseum, Indiana, I just want August, or even July so I can be at freshman orientation and learn about all Mizzou has to offer me.

“Let’s get out of here Kay.”

I look up from my phone to see Brianna and her boyfriend staring at me as if they needed my approval to leave. Unfortunately I kind of like to play by the rules and I didn’t want anything jeopardizing my chances of walking across that stage on Saturday.

“It’s almost over, but you guys can go ahead, I’ll just take the bus back.”

Brianna got her license a year later than everyone else, she claims it was because she didn’t care about driving herself around when she had a boyfriend that could do it for her, but everyone knew it was because she wasn’t passing her drivers test. Bri and I were partners during driver’s ed and she was not good. We took the class during a brutal Indiana winter. The first day we went driving there were just flurries, but by the third day there was half an inch of ice and a foot of snow being cleared off the road. I was literally shaking when I got behind the wheel and not because it was cold. But when it was Bri’s turn she shrugged her shoulders and slammed on the gas. Almost immediately we spun into the other lane, stopped and then slowly inched down into a shallow ditch by our school. Brianna burst into tears immediately, but I couldn’t help, but laugh. I loved her confidence, I really did, but sometimes she was too proud for her own good.

She spent the next six weeks of drivers ed apologizing profusely to the driving instructor and she gave me twenty bucks never to tell the story to anyone.

Anyway, two years later and she’s back on the road. I’ve driven with her a few times since then, but never in the winter. She’s gotten better, but that doesn’t stop me from saying a short prayer before she gets behind the wheel.

I stare into Brianna’s eyes and she looks different. Kind of tired. Sad even. I wonder if everything between her and her boyfriend are okay, but graduation rehearsal wasn’t the time for that conversation. I smile at her warmly.

“Thanks for thinking of me Bri, I’ll call you later.”

She takes her boyfriend’s hand and struts away, right past the security guard blocking the gate. She doesn’t even flinch when he tries to stop them. She just flashes that thousand dollar smile and keeps walking until she’s out the door.

* * *

July 2011

“Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?”

“Will you two shut the hell up!” I snapped.

Seven hours on the road to Mizzou for only the second time and no, we were not fucking there yet. My siblings were getting restless, my grandma was telling the same stories over and over and my headphones were no longer drowning out the noise.

Mizzou’s campus to my parent’s front door is actually only about 6 hours, but when you’re traveling with six people, it’s not that simple. Toss in torrential down pours for at least three hours of the drive and you’ve got my current situation. Seven hours into a six hour road trip with about an hour still left to go.

For the next two days I planned on practicing how not to look like a freshman. While I hated starting at the bottom of the totem poll after just being there four years ago, I was excited to start over in a new state where no one, besides Brianna knew who I was.

“So what’s the plan for tonight?” my mom asked, trying to drown out my siblings.

“We’re meeting Lakin and her family and Shakespeare’s at seven, but I really want to explore campus before that.”

“Okay we can do that, but we’re going to our hotel first. I just need to recollect myself after this drive.”

I hated that about traveling with my family. They always wanted to go to the hotel first, sit and chat, have a few cups of tea and then get down to business. It was such a waste of time to me. They did it on every vacation we went on. We couldn’t just drop our stuff off and head to the pool, or to a restaurant, we had to sit first, and take it all in. I figured it was just one of those things that I’d understand when I was older, who knows.

“Columbia, Missouri five miles!”

My mom loves being the road trip hype man, no matter where we go, she is usually the one that is paying the most attention to how close we are. The closer we are to our destination, the more excited she gets in her announcements.

“Yeah, finally.” Jeff mumbles under his breath. My brother has no problem being the one to ask how close we are to a place every fifteen minutes and he does it, every fifteen minutes.

It’s safe to say my siblings aren’t thrilled about being stuck in a hotel room for three days while I become more acquainted with Mizzou, but my parents love a teachable moment, especially when it comes to instilling the idea that they were going to college, whether they wanted to or not. So last minute, they got roped into the trip, which meant so did my grandma  because of course they needed a babysitter.

Jeff and Katie are my little brother and sister. We are pretty far apart in age. I’m the oldest and they didn’t come along until seven and nine years later. I’m still not over that either. Unlike me, they spent their childhood only in public school, so they are a lot more acclimated to things than I was.

Finally we’re here. I rushed everyone out of the car and up to the room in hopes that the faster we got up there, the faster we could leave.

Mizzou’s freshman orientation, or Summer Welcome as they like to call it was very intricate. I was the last of my high school friends to attend any type of orientation and so I was going into it with an idea of what it would be like. Long, boring and full of information my parents would care about, but I wouldn’t. Brianna had sworn that there was no way I could possibly be prepared for Mizzou’s two day event, but Bri was also dramatic, so I took her comments with a grain of salt. Besides, I had to focus on my dinner plans with my roommate to be, Lakin. We made sure to pick the same orientation date so that we could meet before move in day. For me, I was trying to make sure that she wasn’t too good to be true because she seemed damn near perfect.

We pulled up to Shakespeare’s right on time and Lakin and her mom were waiting for us already. As soon as we saw each other we embraced like friends from another life seeing one another for the first time.

Lakin was a gorgeous muscular girl with pale skin and short blonde hair that came right to her shoulders, you could tell she played sports in a former life. The way she was dressed reminded me of what I would wear when on a health kick with plans to go to the gym. She had a big warm smile and a slight southern accent. Her mother and her looked more like sisters, I guess black isn’t the only thing that doesn’t crack.

We ordered our pizza and had light typical conversation amongst one another. Every once in awhile during the conversation Lakin and I would say the exact same thing at the same time, but with different attitudes and our parents would laugh at how similar we were despite our obvious differences.

“I think they’re going to get along just fine,” my mom said to Lakin’s reassuringly.

I know she was just trying to be nice, but I honestly felt that way too. Lakin and I had a lot in common and she seemed to have a good head on her shoulders which was great because I wasn’t interested in having a roommate who’s hair I’d have to hold back every weekend while she puked all of her hopes and dreams into the toilet. I knew I had made a good choice and I hoped she felt the same.

After dinner was over we said our goodbyes and went our separate way. Summer Welcome had an early start time of 7 a.m. and I did not want to be late.

* * *

 Summer Welcome was a blur, there was a lot of talking, cheesy skits, an unfortunate amount of get to know you games and by the end of day one, I just wanted to get my class schedule and go home.

I did have one thing to look forward to though, the guy I met a year ago during a college fair in St. Louis reached out to me and said we should meet up for coffee while I was in Columbia. I was ecstatic. I wasn’t even on campus yet, but here I was scheduling coffee dates with cute boys. His name is Aaron and I could not wait to see him again. Unfortunately, we only took one car to Columbia, so that meant my parents had to come along for the ride.

Aaron was just as beautiful as I remember. Tall, scruffy and the perfect shade of brown. After a long weekend of rules and regulations, I was excited to get an idea of what college life was actually like. Was it hard to get alcohol? What are the best clubs to get involved with? Is making friends really as easy as everyone says?

Aaron talked about everything, except for those things. He talked about every organization he was in and how Gumby’s pizza was so much better than Shakespeare’s. He boasted about his apartment that was practically on campus the walking distance was so short and he gave my parents and I some real talk about the things that were wrong with Mizzou. The privilege on campus, how difficult it is to see an adviser when needed and the high price of simple foods like ramen and sugary cappuccinos at Mizzou Market. It was a lot to take in and I could tell that my parents were over the conversation almost as soon as it had started, but I was in a trance.

He was just so smart and well spoken. He was a sophomore so he didn’t have the mentality of a high schooler, the way most freshman guys that I had met that weekend did. He was easy on the eyes, well plugged into campus and even if he wasn’t interested in me at all I think at the very least we’ll have a really great friendship.

Move In Day

I sit on the edge of the bed in disbelief of what I’m seeing. My body shudders as a cold chill runs through it.

It’s raining. It’s really fucking raining.

Now as much as I like to dispel stereotypes about black women, one that I know to be true through and through is our absolute disdain for rain and humidity. And with newly washed and straightened hair that is supposed to last me until the first week of school is over, I was not here for the rain or for Missouri’s humidity.

“What’s the big deal?” my dad says trying to comfort me.

My mom and I practically snap our necks turning to face him. How does one live with three black women for 20 years and not understand that we don’t fuck with rain. Yes we’re aware umbrellas exists and no that does not change our stance on rain itself.

I mean sure it waters the earth, gives life to dead things, hydrates us, but it’s also been ruining my flat iron styles since I was five.

“Dad. Dad dad dad, you and mom have worked very hard over the past 18 years of my existence to teach me that first impressions matter.”

“Yes.”

“Well,” I say taking a deep breath “I simply cannot make a good first impression if I’m sweaty from moving AND my hair make me look like a poodle!”

I am newly natural, a choice solely based on the fact that I don’t trust just anyone with my hair, not even my mom. So doing it myself for the next four years seemed like the best option. It is not a political statement.

“One step out there and I can kiss my chances of being the next celebrity alum from Mizzou goodbye!”

“Okay Kayla,” my mom said chiming in “It’s not that serious.”

But it is that serious. Black girls don’t get the same respect white girls do. I was willing to bet money Lakin would show up to move in day the same way she showed up to our Shakespeare’s dinner the difference being her hair would either be in a stingy ponytail or a messy bun, which no matter what white girls say, always looks like shit.

Well, I wasn’t blessed with hair that can somersault over itself and still be deemed presentable by the majority. No I have to work for all of this.

I folded my arms across my chest and shifted my hips from side to side, giving both my parents the death stare. Not that they cared.

I got up, grabbed my sweatshirt, tossed it on being sure that the hood covered my entire head and forehead and headed out the door.  

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