He explained, “When we’re at school, people think I’m a nerd, and I like that. I study really hard, so I like getting that word put on me. Yeah, I’m a nerd. But when I hit the streets, I’m a threat. My GPA, test scores, even my college acceptance to NYU mean nothing.”

He wasn’t sad about it, Janet. That’s what made it even worse. He was so . . . resigned. It broke my heart. I knew I shouldn’t ask what was in his backpack, but I had to know.

He said, “First-aid kit, for when the cops come at me hard. My inhaler comes in handy if they make me put my face in the ground—sometimes it triggers an attack. Also, I have kneepads I put on if I know I’m about to get stopped. The concrete is hard on my knees; I injured one as a kid, so . . . the pads help. I also have a card with phone numbers I need to call in case they take me in, and lastly, I carry this.”

He then showed me a large book titled Countee Cullen: Collected Poems. He told me he’s been carrying it around because of one poem, “Incident.” He showed it to me. It’s about an eight-year-old boy who gets called a nigger for the first time in his life. The poem haunts Matthew because something like that happened to him on his way to the science fair when he was eleven.

“I can find that poem in smaller collections, but I like this big book. When the cops order me to face the wall, I feel weightless, like a brown paper bag they can kick around. But this book gives me weight. So I won’t just crumple and fly away . . .”

Chapter Eighteen

Let’s Party!

I find myself thinking about the second journal entry while in class the next day. The fact that my mom was ever less than confident is strange to me. The fiasco with her hair sounds like more of an Ayo thing than a Rosalie thing. It’s hard to see my mom as a teen who was just as confused as I am.

When I read her journal, I feel close to her. And while the most important thing is to get all the keys, the journal entries have become priceless. I find myself researching the years the entries were written and looking into what was happening around that time.

For example, I read about New York City’s “stop and frisk” law, which was basically the “Black equals criminal” law. They’re still doing that mess, but nowhere near as much as back in the day. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for her and her friends. I wonder what happened to Matthew.