It Doesn't Take a Genius: Chapters 15–21

A girl even walks by the nets and says, “AWKWARRRRRRD” as we’re taking practice shots; it’s like we’re in a teen movie. I guess it’s a small consolation that we all look corny.

Charles and Michelle start whispering about reparations, which for once at this place, is a word I know, because when Mom saw my history textbook and a line about how “Because they were often treated with respect and good care, slaves sang as they worked” she called the principal and aunties Carolyn, Frances, and Renée and the school board and the city councilwoman and the local paper and bought me a book called Slavery: Its Infinite Impact.

After a Powerpoint that has a lot of charts and statistics on it about things like “resegregated schools” and “internalized racism,” a sea of hands rises, and I’m glad, because my head is spinning right now.

“We’re just going to talk in an informal way, and we hope that will get you thinking about how these ideas can intersect in your own work.”

Counselors and junior counselors are group facilitators, which means they keep us on track and try to keep us from joking around too much.

I try to catch his eye when Derek says something pretentious about knowing Auntie Kara Walker, but Luke doesn’t look my way.

The water is clean and allegedly not too cold.

“Ensuring swimming proficiency is one of the most important traditions at DuBois. You will be assessed. You will be placed in the appropriate group for your skill level.”

I walk over to the “baby pool” and offer to forfeit and just be named a beginner, avoid public humiliation, but nooooooo, they wanted to “assess” us each individually.

Any hopes I’d held that a camp full of Black people might have a plethora of non-swimmers are dashed within minutes.

My turn goes just as badly as I expected, and after I splash around, swallow an enormous amount of water, and ignore the giggles, I’m assigned to Novice 0.

I walk over to my Novice 0 groupmates, who are standing next to the little pool, which is three feet deep. They incidentally are not much bigger than three feet tall themselves.

He gets us into the water and starts us on “froggying,” which is as mortifying as it sounds.

I don’t answer, and they barely pretend to stifle their laughter.

There are three of us on the audition list, and one guy crosses his name off in the middle of class, and then I hear a girl doing the old preempt, talking loud about how she has an ankle injury and really shouldn’t be dancing on it.

I miss my cue and have to start the music again.

I think a few of the kids in the class had heard about my swim test fiasco, because there’d been some whispering when I walked in, but the whispering after my audition is totally different. Excited. Impressed.

“In this class, we’re not going to be just about showing off the moves you think you invented”—he kind of glances my way—“we’re going to delve into the foundations of hip-hop culture as well.”

And whoever is trying to asphyxiate us all with that horrific Lemon Chill body spray, do not even think about coming to my class tomorrow smelling like fruit-flavored bologna.

The next day flies by, with intro sessions in the Great DuBois Baking Show, which is forty minutes of reciting kitchen safety rules; ceramics, where we sit and commune with our lumps of clay by rolling and smooshing them around; and a free period, during which I hide in my dorm room and practice interesting things to say to Natasha.

I get so into it that I almost miss dinner, but as I’m trying to refine my toprock, Charles comes to get me.

And today’s Street Style classes were so good. I bet I can incorporate some of the stuff I’m learning there!

You already got the terminology. We’ll take it to the next level, a couple back flips out on the field, maybe?

Then he gets into a pose that looks like something between doing a two-point stance in football and being really constipated.

He starts his jerky robot zombie frenzy again, and we laugh until Marcus knocks and reminds us that it’s lights out/volume low time.

He advocates for them all, but I tell him to settle on one of his instruments, and not the keytar.

“His dance identity is linked to his other identities, yes?”
I nod.
“Inextricably linked?”

“Like that,” she says, and she even bows a little like she’s getting a standing ovation.

“How did they get to be in charge?”
I kind of agree, but at least they’re trying. I want to say that, but Jeffrey’s been coming to DuBois for five years; he has clout.

Calvin cheers up a little after that, we squawk a little more and then everyone’s glad it’s over and I head from purgatory to hell.

“Brothers like that Ernest kid should have their Black cards revoked,” he says loudly.

Right on cue, there’s Luke walking in my direction, carrying a bunch of blank canvases.

He’s pointing toward Derek and his crew, and I want to tell Luke that his intern doesn’t have the best taste in friends, but I don’t want to sound petty.

You know what’s unbelievable? My brother, consorting with the enemy.

It’s funny, we kind of have nothing in common, but we’re simpatico as Charles (and only Charles) would say.

“You finally came to check it out—isn’t this awesome? Actually—what I mean is...”
I wait for another antiquated etymological term that I’ve never heard before.

I listen to some counselors having an impromptu debate on old school hip-hop (“Novelty Songs: Good for the Culture, or White People Food?”), then I get in on a dance battle scene from a Step Up movie (three or four, we couldn’t remember), with a couple of people from my Street Style workshop.

After that, I sit in a circle with Charles, Natasha, Michelle, basketball star twins named Tony and Todd, and a bunch of other people, reminiscing about our favorite polysyllabic words—it even turns into a contest.

“It’s original music, composed by campers in the electronic music program,” he says. “Kids in the DJ class curate it. A couple of kids get record deals every summer.”

I don’t know what’s more hilarious, the fact that Michelle just offered that little tidbit, or the sappy expression on Charles’s face when she said it.