“But I am worried. I am.” I put down my fork and walk away from the table. She sighs and comes after me as I head into the living room. She sees something on the floor—it’s the letter Devonte gave me. I must have dropped it.

She picks up the paper and reads it. Her face falls.

“What is this?” she asks.

Damn. That’s not the way I wanted to bring up the subject.

“Devonte Evens gave it to me. He says that the coach wanted him to talk to me about keeping his job.”

Mom’s face grows dark with anger. “He had no right to give this letter to a kid and ask them to do his work for him. This coach is unbelievable. I’m not even close to being done with him.”

“Well, maybe you should be,” I dare say before I can stop myself.

“Excuse me?”

Screw it. It’s now or never.

“Mom, Alex is the one who got his hair cut in front of everyone. And he’s willing to let it go. The coach said he’s sorry. The team just wants to move on. I heard he’s a great coach, and the team really wants to go to nationals this year.”

She looks me over as if she’s not sure I’m her child. She tilts her head slightly, and a chill runs through me. “Did you bring this letter home to show me how low the coach will go or to have me sign it?”

I shrug my shoulder but don’t say anything. I look away from her. The ease and lightness we shared earlier is gone.

“I asked you a question, little girl. Did you bring this letter expecting me to sign it?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” I mumble as my feet sweat and my fingers go numb.

“I think you do. Now, I’m going to ask you again—and for the last time. Did you bring this ridiculous letter into this house for me to sign?”

“Fine, yes. I brought it here so that you could sign it. Alex wants—”

“Alex is a victim of a racist, arrogant bully who humiliated him because he dared to come to school with hair that was ‘too Black’ for the coach’s comfort. That boy hasn’t even begun to understand the full extent of what happened to him.”

“Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe you’re making a big deal out of it for nothing. Maybe it’s just hair!” I blurt out.

She folds her arms across her chest and furrows her brow. “You’re saying you think that if Alex had been white, the same thing would have happened to him? How many white kids do you hear getting chunks of their hair cut off at school? How many white kids are being sent home because they dared to come to school with braids? Who are you right now?”