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  Praise for the Writing of Mildred Pitts Walter

  Because We Are

  A Coretta Scott King Honor Book

  A Parents’ Choice Award Book for Literature

  “Walter draws readers into a complex situation with finely paced writing, good integration of themes, and an understanding of the feelings of young men and women.” —School Library Journal

  The Girl on the Outside

  A Christian Science Monitor Best Book

  A Notable Children’s Trade Book in the Field of Social Studies

  “[Walter] re-creates the tenor of the times from both black and white perspectives and gives the incident immediacy for today’s younger teens …” —Booklist

  “We are moved … by the courage required of these children and their parents …” —School Library Journal

  “A moving, dramatic re-creation of the 1957 integration of a Little Rock high school as seen through the eyes of a black girl and a white girl.” —Booklist

  “A vivid story … written with insight and compassion, its characters fully developed, its converging lines nicely controlled.” —Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books

  Second Daughter

  “Based on a real case, this admirable historical novel is unique for the perspective it lends to the Revolution and its profound impact on the lives of all Americans.” —Kirkus Reviews

  Trouble’s Child

  A Coretta Scott King Honor Book

  “Walter immerses readers in Martha’s internal struggle, holding their attention to the last page. The quickly paced text utilizes the native dialect, further adding to the aura of the isolated island setting as Walter shows how ritual and superstition dominate.… While Martha’s particular problems are unique, adolescent readers will easily empathize with her predicament of feeling confused by the pull from so many different directions at this stage of life.” —School Library Journal

  Because We Are

  Mildred Pitts Walter

  To my young friends:

  Brenda, Craig, Eric, Jerry,

  Jill, John, Lloyd, Michele,

  Ronald, Ruby, Sheryl, and Vinita

  One

  A Santa Ana wind blew in from the San Gabriel Mountains. The grounds at Marlborough High School were deserted that hot October noonday as Emma made her way toward the cafeteria. She moved quickly, a smile on her face, feeling pleased with herself. She had just been told she had been elected to the National Honor Society. Everything was falling into place. A scholarship to a major university would surely come; the words Emma Walsh, M.D. flashed in her mind, and now the Golden Slippers would certainly want her as a debutante. She felt a sudden rush of excitement. Did she really want to be a deb? Don’t be silly, she told herself. Who wouldn’t want to be a Golden Slipper deb?

  Should she break the news to her friends now, or just let it filter through the grapevine? Would the news that had made her so happy become another achievement for which she might have to apologize? Maybe she would tell Cheryl and Dee.

  Inside the cool room, she paused to let her eyes adjust to the change in light. Marvin called to her, “Hey, Em, over here.”

  As always she sensed that special joy on seeing him and the pleasure of being with friends in that section of the cafeteria where the Blacks gathered for lunch. She hurried through the hash line and started toward Marvin and her friends.

  She passed those on the fringe of the main group. There was boisterous laughter; some people were practicing new dance steps around a group playing cards. “Hi, beautiful lady,” a boy shouted at Emma.

  “Beautiful?” muttered a girl whom Emma recognized from her English Composition class. “Better say ‘white-girl lady.’” There was a burst of laughter.

  Emma burned with shame and anger, but pretended she had not heard. It was well known that she maintained a four-point grade average, was the only Black on the student council, and that she had white friends. Would she forever have to prove her Blackness?

  She placed her tray on the table where Marvin was seated with her main friends, Cheryl and Dee.

  “Get up, Melanie, so Emma can sit next to Marvin,” Dee demanded.

  “You don’t belong at this table anyway,” Cheryl said.

  “I belong wherever I want to be,” Melanie replied defensively. She left and began table hopping to prove her point that she moved back and forth between the groups.

  Emma squeezed in beside Marvin. He kissed her cheek and grinned. “How’s my woman?” he asked close to her ear.

  Her skin prickled with delight, but, also, she felt a rush of shame. She hated his showing affection in front of everybody, even though he was a great basketball player, the school’s hero—Marvelous Marv.

  “Can’t you see? She’s fine, man.” Everybody laughed at Ron, a cello player, the only Black in the school orchestra. The laughter at her table, everybody in their section talking at once, the handslapping—all the body language—made her feel warm, safe, at home.

  Then “white-girl lady” flashed in her mind, and she recalled that last year when she first joined Marvin at that table, all talking had stopped. She had not been welcomed there, either. “Oreo chick” they had named her. But with a few phrases at the right times in the right places, Emma had gradually proved her right to belong. On second thought she decided not to mention the National Honor Society award to anyone.

  Marvin held his sandwich for her to take a bite. She accepted. He grinned at her and she settled comfortably to eat her lunch, again pleased with herself. Then she saw Ms. Simmons. The young English teacher had red hair coiled around her head; and her skin, too fair by California standards, was sprinkled with freckles. Emma caught Ms. Simmons’ eye and saw a look of surprise.

  “Emma Walsh!” Ms. Simmons called, then made her way toward the table.

  “Your shadow, Emma,” Dee whispered.

  “The long white shadow,” Cheryl muttered, and there was a burst of laughter.

  Ms. Simmons ignored the laughter. “There’s student council next period. I’d like to see you there.” She looked from one group to the next with obvious disapproval. “I hope we don’t lose her to you people.”

  There was silence at Emma’s table. Emma felt anger rise in her. What the devil is she trying to pull? Acting like we’re close—in front of my friends, yet. “What do you mean ‘lose’ me?” Emma asked.

  Ms. Simmons smiled. “Just want you to know we need you, Emma.” She went on her way.

  Emma sat feeling the old shame and humiliation Ms. Simmons had a way of arousing in her. The mood at the table was poisoned, and Emma knew that the effects would spread beyond these cafeteria walls.

  Reluctantly Emma left Cheryl and Dee at the table. Marvin’s parting words whispered in her ear were: “OK, baby, get on. It’s your being white time now.” She laughed. He should have to deal with student council, she thought, especially Danny. She hoped Danny would not be there today, slinging his long blond hair, telling his jokes and trying to impress her with his familiarity with “ghetto talk.”

  The student council hall was alive with laughter when Emma arrived. Danny was there, as usual the center of attention. When Danny saw Emma, he shouted, “Hey, Karen, here’s your best resource.” Turning to Emma, he said, “Karen has to write a paper about welfare. Why don’t you help her out?”

  “Why do you think I can help her?” Emma asked.

  “Don’t all y’all know ’bout welfare?”

  Everybody laughed. Emma looked at Ms. Simmons. Ms. Simmons smiled and said, “All right, let’s calm down so we can get to work; and remembe
r we’re lucky to have Emma. I was just reminding Emma that we need her. She’s not only smart, but she’s pretty, too.”

  How could Ms. Simmons let Danny get away with that? Why does she have to always make me out so different? Get hold, Emma told herself, but she didn’t have to take that. She smiled sweetly, bowed her head, and said, “Thank you, Ms. Simmons.” Then she walked out of the room, and slammed the door.

  At seventh period, in Ms. Simmons’ English Composition class, Emma found students around the teacher’s desk, handing in papers. “Oh, my goodness,” she cried. What with a science report, extra math, and a history test, she had forgotten to do the assigned outline. She rushed to her seat to get something on paper. Too late. Ms. Simmons was up and down the aisles now, collecting papers.

  “Ms. Walsh?”

  Ms. Walsh? I’m in trouble, Emma thought. She’s gone all formal: “Just one minute, Ms. Simmons,” Emma pleaded.

  Ms. Simmons stood by Emma’s desk. “You can’t make it on past performance, you know. I am disappointed in you, Emma. You have great potential.”

  “You don’t know me,” Emma said without looking up.

  “I know you’ve done excellent work heretofore, and with your background—”

  “You don’t know a thing about me, my potential, or my background, so … just forget it.” Emma tried to control her anger. “I’ll turn in the outline before the day is over, OK?”

  Ms. Simmons flushed under her freckles, patted the coil on her head, then pressed her hands on Emma’s desk. “You are an outstanding student; you have leadership ability. You could be in the mainstream, Emma.”

  Emma glanced at the other Black in her class, the one who had called her the “white-girl lady.” Suddenly there was the moment with Ms. Simmons in the cafeteria and again in the council hall—that humiliation. She straightened her back and turned her head sharply away from Ms. Simmons, her lips pouting.

  Ms. Simmons continued angrily, “I can get you into the mainstream, but I can’t keep you there. You have to want to be there. I know your parents don’t approve of you isolating yourself with hall walkers … with riffraff.”

  “Don’t be calling my friends riffraff,” Emma exploded.

  Ms. Simmons hesitated, then put her hand on Emma’s shoulder. Emma shoved her hand away. “Don’t touch me, white witch.”

  Ms. Simmons’ face was paler than ever now. “Go to the office and wait until I come.”

  Emma, stunned, at first could not connect the idea of motion with her body.

  “I said get out of here.” Ms. Simmons ground the words between her teeth, almost in a whisper.

  Emma stumbled out into the hall, knowing she was in trouble.

  Mrs. Phillips, the girls’ vice-principal, was standing in the doorway of her inner office, talking to the secretary and school nurse, when Emma entered.

  “Why, hello, Emma,” Mrs. Phillips said. “Congratulations. Ladies, I’ll have you know you’re looking at one of our National Honor students. Isn’t she terrific?”

  Emma smiled weakly.

  “What can I do for you, Emma?” Mrs. Phillips asked.

  Should she tell Mrs. Phillips what had happened now, or should she wait until Ms. Simmons could hear all that was said? She decided to say only, “Ms. Simmons asked me to wait here for her.”

  “All right. Sit in my office. I was heading down the hall; I’ll be right back.”

  Emma waited, trying to ignore the rising fear. Suppose they expel me? They couldn’t. Not for that, she told herself. She knew she was an “opportunity transfer” student, living out of Marlborough’s district. For the least mistake, she could be out. The shame and humiliation, now mixed with fear, was worse than anything she had ever felt. What would her mother say?

  It was not long before Mrs. Phillips returned with Ms. Simmons. “Emma, Ms. Simmons tells me something very hard for me to believe. Is it true?”

  Emma sensed imminent danger and felt cold inside. “I don’t know if it’s true or not. What did she tell you?”

  “You attacked her and cursed her in front of the class.”

  “I did not!” The words rushed out.

  “You most certainly did!” Ms. Simmons countered. “And not only that, she’s been most hostile recently—a chip on her shoulder. She stormed out of council meeting today for no reason at all.”

  “How can you say I had no reason when you agreed with Danny that I was the best resource on welfare?”

  “I never agreed with Danny. Remember? I reminded them that we’re lucky to have you. And you walked out.”

  “Well … Emma, we are lucky to have you,” Mrs. Phillips said. “You’re smart and attractive—”

  “You see?” Ms. Simmons interrupted.

  Emma’s first impulse was to laugh, but she knew if she started, she’d never stop. Stay cool, she told herself. The room was silent. Finally, Emma said, “But I didn’t attack you. I pushed your hand away, and I’m sorry.…” Emma stopped, trying to control the rising tears.

  “Being sorry is not enough,” Ms. Simmons said angrily.

  “What you’ve done is very serious, Emma,” Mrs. Phillips said. “You could be arrested for attacking a teacher, you know that? But I’m going to let you go home.”

  “Go home?” Emma cried. “If to apologize is not enough, what can I do? I’ll do anything, Mrs. Phillips, but I can’t go home.”

  “Under any circumstances, we’ll have to talk to your parents before final decisions are made. Your parents are divorced, aren’t they?”

  Emma dropped her head.

  “Your mother can come alone,” Mrs. Phillips said.

  “Please, don’t bring my mother into this. I have just one more semester after this one, and I’ll be gone from here. Can’t we settle this, Ms. Simmons?”

  Ms. Simmons did not respond. Emma looked at Mrs. Phillips. “Please, can’t we?”

  Mrs. Phillips sighed. “I have a thousand students here to think about. Can you imagine what would happen, Emma, if they all got it into their heads to act the way you did today? I cannot bend the rules. Not for you, not for anyone. We’ll see what happens after we talk to your mother.”

  Emma sensed that all her dreams were dying; her world was falling apart. Marvin! She must tell Marvin. But the next moment she found herself running … running home.

  Two

  Emma heard her bedroom door open slowly. She pretended she was asleep. She could not face her mother and go over all that again. Soon the front door closed; the car started, and she knew her mother was off to see about getting her back into school.

  What a stupid thing to have done. The election to the National Honor Society and the possibility of becoming a debutante were now dimmed by her foolish action. Why did I let her upset me, make me lose my cool, when so much was at stake? Why had Ms. Simmons lied? And pretending all this time I was one of her favorite people. In desolation and fear, Emma knew she was in this all alone.

  The little clock near her bed said ten o’clock. She kicked off the light-green blanket and got up. In her closet she found a pink cotton robe, worn and soft. Now it was too long for short and too short for long, but she put it on.

  With the drapes and curtains drawn to keep out the heat that the persistent Santa Ana winds brought, the house was dark.

  In the kitchen she turned on the fire under the kettle and went on to the bathroom. Bright tile and sparkling bowl reminded her of her mother’s need to have things just so. She felt a pang of guilt: a senior getting into that kind of trouble.

  As she showered, she found herself trying to push away the thought that she might be expelled. But it didn’t work. The worry was only followed by the fear that the Golden Slippers Social Club might reject her as a debutante. What if she had to leave Marlborough and her friends there? The thought of trying to make new ones overwhelmed her. It had taken two years and a lot of effort to win those few friends at Marlborough. And not seeing Marvin everyday would be unbearable, too. She saw him now as she always saw
him in her mind’s eye: tall, lean, bronze, up and down the basketball court, smooth as silk, making baskets effortlessly. What would happen to their relationship if she were not there? They’ll let me come back, she told herself. Ma’ll convince them.

  Making toast and hot chocolate occupied her for a while, but then she was not hungry; the fullness was all the way into her throat. She felt she was alone against a wall of darkness. The kitchen, her favorite room, with plants crowding in from the ceiling did not cheer her. At times she had laughed when her mother talked to those plants as if they were children. Now she wished she were on speaking terms with them. Why didn’t her mother come?

  Finally she heard the key in the lock.

  “Well, you’ve blown it this time,” her mother said angrily. “Emma, how could you, after all I’ve been through for you? Hitting and cursing a teacher!”

  “I didn’t curse her.”

  “Whether you called her a bitch or not is of little importance. The fact that you put yourself in a position to be accused is.”

  “Ma—”

  “No!” her mother interrupted. “You listen to me. They told me how, here lately, you have been isolating yourself with the Black kids; and how you don’t participate in school activities the way you once did.”

  Emma looked at her mother. She felt as though the dark wall was closing in.

  “Why do you Black kids feel that you have to bunch up together?” She waited.

  Emma said nothing.

  “Emma, I send you to a mixed school to learn all you can learn. Then you go there and segregate yourself. Why do you feel that you have to segregate yourself?”

  “I don’t. Mama, you don’t understand that teacher.”

  “That teacher only wants what’s best for you.”

  How can that teacher know what’s best for me? exploded in Emma’s head, but she said nothing.

  The doorbell rang. “That’s probably your father. Let him in.”

  Oh, no, Emma thought. Oh, God, please don’t let Jody be with him. A flash of Jody’s light-brown hair and big gray eyes reminded Emma that Jody was friendly, but a stranger, nevertheless. And what with being white, she was likely to remain a stranger. But her father had every right to bring Jody if he liked. After all, she was his wife and had been for the last three years, ever since Emma was fourteen years old.