She starts packing her stuff. I never unpacked, so no issue there. Milton is already up and ready to head out. Mr. Cutler says, “We still have five more minutes, guys. And we’d like to hear from everyone.”

“You want to hear from everyone Black on this issue, and we get that,” I reply with a smile. “But here’s the thing, Mr. Cutler—Sage and the rest of the class is right: There is no racism in America. Everyone is the same. There’s equal housing, equal pay, and yes, justice for all.” I head toward the exit.

But sarcasm seems like a bad way to end things, and again, I really like Mr. Cutler. So, with my hand on the doorknob and Denise and Milton not far behind me, I address my teacher. “The only problem is that Sage and the rest of the class are talking about their America. You know, the one where they can protest peacefully without fear of retribution? The country where the wealth their ancestors amassed gets to stay in the family. You know what America I’m talking about—Sage’s America, Ashton’s America, and yours too, Mr. Cutler.”

Denise chimes in, “Now, we’d love to sit and tell you about our America—you know, the one where Black mothers watch their kids leave for school, knowing they might not ever come back? Our America, where we get attacked by culture vultures who put more value on our hairstyles than they do our lives?”

“The same America that ‘freed’ us in ten ways and found a thousand ways to systemically strip that same freedom from us,” Milton says matter-of-factly.

“The America where my mom gets shot in the head and is somehow made to be the bad guy. That’s our America,” I add. “And once you see it—if you dare to see it—you’ll get uncomfortable. Then you run back to Sage’s America. And act like nothing happened.

“Well, our guides are exhausted, weary, and fed up. So as of now, all tours of Black America have been canceled.”

Chapter Sixteen

Forever Midnight

The tree branch outside my window wags its bony finger at me. It wants me to stop what I’m about to do. The tree is not alone in objecting. There’s a small colony of ants on the tree, and I swear they are forming a “no” pattern as they crawl along the trunk. The squirrels at the base of the tree aren’t any subtler. They hold their acorns in their mouths and dart their heads from side to side as if to say, “Don’t you do it!” But now that I am back on the surface, I have to know what’s going on. And that means going back on social media. So, despite nature’s strong objections, I log on to Twitter.