“You shouldn’t even talk, Ashton,” Denise says. “When we did our project together back in junior high, you had me come over for dinner so we could work after. And it was only after we had eaten that you admitted your parents call people the N-word when they get mad.”

“Yeah, that’s why I wanted you to come over, so they could see that you were cool, so they wouldn’t say that word anymore. I was trying to fix the problem,” Ashton barks back at her.

“I don’t want to be your token Black friend, and you should have told me that your mother was a racist bi—”

“Okay! That’s enough—from everyone!” Mr. Cutler shouts over the noise.

The classroom is silent, but the sound and fury of unspoken thoughts rings loud. Mr. Cutler is facing an internal struggle: The academic in him loves this honest discussion. However, he knows it won’t take much more for the whole thing to so south.

Decisions. Decisions.

“Now, if we agree to no name calling and no shouting, I will let this go on for another few minutes before the bell rings. Can we all agree?” the teacher asks.

The class quietly agrees. The first person to speak is Ashton. “I wasn’t trying to upset you. My parents aren’t always great with the whole race thing, but I thought if they met some of my friends, then they’d start getting better at it. My parents aren’t bad people. They only say the N-word when they’re mad.”

“And you all say the N-word too, in, like, every song!” Sage says.

Dear God, make the Southern belle shut the hell up.

The girl who is comforting Sage looks over at Denise. “I don’t think you have a right to call Sage racist. You don’t know her.”

Sara, a small, meek white girl with a short haircut, chimes in. “Everything that happens isn’t about race. Like if you don’t get a certain job or if someone is rude to you. Not everything is about that.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about!” Denise says angrily.

I gauge my meter. It’s not better, but it’s not on empty either. Why is that?

Mr. Cutler says, “Well, I think we need some new voices in this conversation. Milton?”

“Does this affect my grade?” Milton asks.

“Ah . . . no. It won’t. But I’d like your input,” Mr. Cutler adds.

“If it really doesn’t affect my grade, I’m choosing to abstain from this . . . conversation.”

Normally, Milton gets on my damn nerves, but right now, I love that boy! I suppress a smile and look over at Denise. I give her what I have come to call the “Harriet Tubman nod.” It basically says, “Dear white folks, we out!”