I’ve been in situations like this before, but normally it’s because I’m the only Black person in the room. But this time there’s a room full of us, and she’s the only white girl.

So, I’m thrown. I’m not sure what the rules are in this bizarre, reversed scenario.

“Chloe, it’s late. Let’s go,” Franklyn says.

“Hang on,” she pleads.

Devonte has a bemused look on his face. Franklyn is quietly apologizing with his eyes for whatever is about to come out her mouth.

Chloe places her hands together in front of her like she’s praying and asks in a sweet, innocent tone, “I’ve been trying to find someone to cornrow my hair. Can you do it? Or any of you girls?” she says, looking around the room. “I’d pay you for sure.”

Girl, no, I can’t cornrow your hair! The hell I look like?

I briefly make eye contact with the other girls in the room; they cosign. Their reactions range from slight eye rolling to full-on teeth sucking and turning away.

“I don’t know how to do that,” I lie. The other girls shrug, letting her know they, too, can’t braid hair.

Franklyn takes Chloe’s hand and says, “Let’s get some air.”

“Oh, okay. Be right back,” she says as she heads for the door.

Franklyn addresses the room just before he walks out. “She good people. She just loves braids and stuff, so . . .”

We glare at him.

He knows why.

Chapter Seven

Hulk, 1; David Banner, 0

What Chloe asked was really dumb and side-eye-worthy, but it’s not exactly shocking. People say racist mess to us Black girls all the time, without even thinking about it.

Sometimes they say casual racist things that appear innocuous but are total insults: “You’re so dark, why do you need sun block?” or “You’re so pretty . . . for a Black girl.” Once, in the library, a cute white boy said to me, “Man, you don’t have to work as hard to get into college.”

The point is it’s just another day, no big deal. But while Franklyn and Chloe go back upstairs to dance, the four couples that remain beside us are not ready to close the door on the subject. I have no idea what anyone’s names are. When Devonte made the introductions earlier, I was only half paying attention. So, my imagination takes over in naming them: I call the first guy Fire because he has the rhythm, gestures, and command of a fire-and-brimstone Baptist preacher. He addresses us girls (aka his congregation).

“Anytime you all see us with a white chick, you ready to take our cards. Why can’t we be with whoever we want? Why put limits on a brotha? Y’all need to stop being insecure and fall back.”