I call my mom after I find an empty spot in the parking lot of Montgomery Preparatory.
“Hi, sweetie,” Mom answers.
“Hi Mom, I’m here. Where should I go?”
“Walk inside the main building. I’ll meet you there.”
This building isn’t as large as Montgomery Academy, but the layout is very similar. When I enter the main building, I walk over to the left where my mom is standing.
“Why did you take out your box braids so soon?”
“I felt like I needed a change.”
My mom didn’t see me this morning, so she probably thinks I took the braids out last night.
“Why aren’t you wearing your uniform?”
“I was a major klutz at lunch today, and spilled marinara sauce all over my uniform, so I left school a little early to change.”
“You got that trait from me,” my mom laughs.
I hate lying to my mom, but it’s not anything major, just a small, little white lie.
“Come on, honey, I want to introduce you to some colleagues.” She wraps her arm around my shoulders, guiding me to the right and up a flight of stairs.
I can tell by the surprised expressions on some of her colleagues’ faces that they didn’t expect my mom to have a biracial daughter. It’s sad that, in this day and age, interracial couples are still considered taboo by others. My mom is oblivious to their reactions. After the meet-and-greet, my mom takes me to her classroom, where she sits at a desk, then motions for me to sit at the desk beside her.
“I’ve been thinking long and hard about what student to assign to you for tutoring.”
Montgomery Preparatory caters to sixth through eighth grade students. My mom is a history teacher for sixth grade students.
“I have a sweet girl in my class named Kayla. She’s a social outcast who’s being bullied because she has a slight academic delay. She seems very unhappy, so my heart goes out to her. I think you’ll be able to help her blossom, baby. You’re so outgoing and fun. You are just what she needs.”
“I’ll do whatever I can to help, Mom.”
My mom reaches over to squeeze my hand. “I knew I could count on you. Come on baby, follow me. I’ll take you to the classroom where the tutoring takes place.”
I follow my mom from the classroom to enter another a few doors down. There are about a dozen high school and middle school students paired up at tables, except for one girl sitting at a desk in the back corner. I’m guessing she’s Kayla. I follow my mom over to the lone figure at the table. She has bushy out-of-control, neck-length black hair and green eyes. She’s really pale and thin.
“Hi, Kayla,” my mom says.
The girl doesn’t reply.
“This is my daughter, Cocoa. She’ll be your tutor.”
“I don’t want a tutor,” Kayla mutters.
“She’s here to help, not judge. Please give her the opportunity to help you succeed.”
“Hi Kayla, I’m very excited about working with you,” I say.
“I’ll leave it to you,” says my mom as she leaves the classroom.
I sit down next to Kayla. “So, is that your homework you’re working on?”
She doesn’t answer, so I look over at the paper she’s working on.
"Okay, fractions are awesome," I say.
