Prince George's Information Commons homepage


"William Wirt, 1973" (fiction by Mandy Fraser)

Chapter 2: The New Kids I don't want to get up. I don't want to go to school. I want to stay right here, in bed with warm flannel pajamas and my quilt to keep me nice and warm. I want it to be winter break for at least one more day, maybe two. I also want my alarm clock to stop ringing. "Nick!" Mom is knocking and opening the door before I can even respond. "Nicholas?" I can see her outline through my sheet, which I've thrown over my head to hide from the world. She's got both hands on her hips which is Mom's silent way of saying that she's not going to be patient with me. "Ten more minutes?" I croak out, my throat just waking up, too. Her answer is quick. "No way, kiddo." I toss the cover from over my head in time to see her turn and walk out into the hallway. "Get ready for your first day back to the eight grade! Besides, breakfast is ready. Your dad and I will expect you at the table in ten minutes, okay?" The alarm beeps for a minute more while I get ready to move. The carpet feels too rough underneath my feet as I shuffle over to my dresser and pick up the shirt Mom laid out for me last night. It doesn't take long to get dressed, stumble into the bathroom and brush my teeth, then my hair. Exactly ten minutes pass and then I'm wandering down the hallway towards the kitchen where my parents are already sitting at the table, Dad sipping on his coffee. I slow down when I hear my name so I can listen to a little bit more. They're talking about something and Mom is pointing at the front page of the Washington Post saying, "It's not right, Harold. They're just kids and they're being used as guinea pigs for this… this social experiment." Dad puts the cup on the table and leans forward to look at the paper. "Had to happen at some point, I suppose. Handed all the way down from the Supreme Court." He sits back a little and glances up at her. "I'm just worried about Nick. Some of those kids could be troubled, not the best neighborhoods, you know? Don't want him in class with some troublemaker." Mom nods. "Or someone who can't keep up with the rest of the class. That sort of thing could throw off his learning, or make it more difficult to understand a unit if the teacher is always stopping to help one student." I start walking again, finding my seat before a plate of pancakes and bacon. It's my favorite and I figure Mom must be taking pity on me on my first day back. "What're you guys talking about?" The syrup comes out of the bottle too fast and my plate is covered in it. Oh well, the more the better! Dad speaks around a mouth full of food, definitely not practicing what he preaches. "Nothing, Nick. Just some new kids at your school today, is all." Oh. I've heard about that. Hadn't thought much of it though. So some new people are going to be in my classes? I don't really see where it really matters, the busing and everything from the black side of town. They can't be too unusual, I mean, it's not like they're from another state or something. That neighborhood is only fifteen, twenty minutes away. We never really go there, but it's not that far. Last quarter, my English teacher had made us read newspapers every week. It was supposed to help us practice our comprehension skills because we'd be quizzed on what we read. The quizzes were always really easy, and I can't say I minded starting class out with fifteen minutes of silent reading. But, anyway, there was a lot of stuff in the paper about the busing and they kept mentioning some court case called Brown v. Board of Education that had been a big deal a while ago. In the fifties, when my parents were young, the case had made it illegal to segregate… to keep the races separate. Especially in schools. Though, for some reason, county schools haven't begun to change until now. Heck, I never really see black people. There are certainly none in my school, until now, and there aren't any in my neighborhood. The only colored people I've really ever met are the Sandoval family down the street, and they're Mexican. "Are you O.K. with that, honey?" Mom looks concerned from across the table "Because, you know, if those kids make you uncomfortable you just tell us and we'll figure something out. All you have to do is say the word-" I swallow my mouthful and interrupt her. "I'm fine, Mom. Really." "You're Mother is right, Nick." Dad says, turning another page in the paper. "We don't know how these kids have been brought up, or how they're going to deal with being put into a new environment. I'm sure your teachers all understand the situation, but on the chance that they can't handle your new classmates, you tell us. I don't want your grades to suffer because of something like this." I don't understand why this is such a big deal to them. It's obvious my parents care about me, but they seem really worried about this change. I'm starting to second guess myself. Maybe this is serious. Maybe these transfer students are going to be mean, or something. Suddenly, I'm kind of nervous about today. "O.K., Dad." My scrambled eggs are bright yellow and getting cold. He flips yet another page of the Post and looks at me. "Just remember what we said." Something on the paper catches his eye and he turns to my Mother. "Did you read about this robbery that happened a few blocks over? I swear, this area just gets worse and worse every years." Mom and Dad talk about the neighborhood for a few more minutes while I devour the rest of my breakfast. Before I know it, the bus is outside and I'm scrambling out the door, with Mom handing me my brown bad lunch and Dad calling out after me, "Good luck!" and "Have a good day!"   Go on to Chapter 3