That’s another reason I want to give up See Us. I can’t take any more of the sadness that comes with activism life. I don’t want to think about the number of ways our skin makes us a target. I want to stay out late, party, and hashtag my way to happiness.

“Ayo, did you hear me? Why does your mom want us to march on the Lord’s day?”

“It’s on a Sunday because most people don’t work on Sunday and will be able to join in,” I reply, as I have received that question many times before—usually from the Water Ladies.

“I guess,” the sisters say in unison as they make their way across the street.

The How Much? march has taken over our lives. Everyone is working hard to make sure it goes well. I’ve helped get the youth group ready. That meant getting kids to sign up and also getting them to ask their parents to help out. My friends and I have stuffed a million envelopes, and made as many calls. I’ve helped make up the signs; I’ve made cold calls to get donations and printed thousands of stickers and flyers.

I also met Davis’s wife. When I first saw her, she looked like a ghost of whoever she used to be. Her husband was shot and killed, and it looked like she just wanted to lie in the dirt beside him. But after getting involved with the march, she’s changed. There’s a new light in her eyes.

See Us is a good cause. You want out because you’re selfish.

No! I will not think that way. It’s okay to want to do something fun for once. It’s okay to want to have a life. I want to be kissed—really kissed. I want to go on dates. And get invited to parties. Just live like everyone else. Why is that so bad?

“It’s not wrong! It’s not!” I shout.

“Child, why you out here talking to yourself? You best not be on that stuff,” someone says as I walk by.

“Hell no, she would never. Ayo’s a good girl. Besides, you know Rosalie don’t play that,” a second voice says.

I turn toward the voices; it’s the group I call the Generals. Five men. Old. Loud. Black. They are in their usual spot—in front of the barbershop. They sit on top of crates, in front of a makeshift card table. They come to the card tables like generals on a battlefield and play a ruthless game of dominoes. Their focus is unparalleled, and their resolve is absolute. They embark on world domination, until their wives call them back home for dinner.

“Ayo, tell your mama I got that Nina Simone on wax she been bugging me about,” the leader, Mr. Herbert, says.