Page 6 of You've Got a Place Here, Too
Amani nodded. “This is one of many informal shows we put on whenever there’s a new line. It’s always a good time, but it means that between probates and midterms, we have no time to practice.”
“I remember those days.” I laughed. “I’m not the best stepper, but if y’all need more people next time, I could join a couple rehearsals. No promises that I’ll be any good—”
“Delta Sigma Theta, up next!”
“Gotta go, but definitely! Let’s talk after. Maybe I can help you get ready for the audition!”
“Make thatwe,” Jrue said, reminding me of his presence. “I’d love to help you get ready for the audition, too. If you want.”
I tried to hide my blush behind my hands, but not before he saw it and blushed back.
“Wanna get closer?” he asked, pointing at the stage.
“Sure,” I said, feeling the intensity of our bodies pressing closer and closer together as we merged deeper into the crowd. We reached the front just as the Deltas prepared to take the stage.
“I bet y’all ain’t have stepshows like this in Michigan,” Jrue said with a smirk.
“You’d be surprised. For a mostly white school, our Black spaces were top-tier.” A fact, with an important caveat that I decided to skip: Black people in predominantly white spaces were constantly up against the whims and wants of white people. Every outfit we chose, every code switch, every hairstyle and reaction. One way or another, all our choices had to do with that gaze, that pressure we could always feel. Which, in a way, is what had caused me to leave, in the end.
“Oh yeah?”
“For sure,” I said, focusing on the good. “Greek life, gospel choir, BSU…we even had our own Black homecoming and Black graduation!”
“That sounds pretty dope,” Jrue said, “like in an ‘if I had to go to a white school’ sorta way.”
I giggled and pushed his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, I know it’s no HBCU, but it kinda felt like the next best thing, you know?”
“So, then why’d you leave?”
I considered possible answers to his question, starting with:I was unhinged and anguished and full of regret,and ending with:I still have hope that I can make her proud.“It wasn’t one thing in particular,” I replied instead, thinking fast. “I guess I just…wanted more than that.”
“Fair,” Jrue began, before he was interrupted by the start of the Deltas’ show.
I clapped my hands and tuned in, excited to be done with the line of questioning. As I watched the Deltas step, my mind rewound to the only positive thing my parents had been able to say to me about transferring (after finally accepting defeat). We were watching a rerun ofFresh Prince,and as Will stumbled through his first day at Bel-Air Academy, my dad turned to me and said, “That’s the thing about a fresh start. You get to decide who you want to be, almost like you’re reinventing yourself. Make sure you think about that. Who you want to be now. Use it wisely.”
“Did y’all see us up there?” screeched Amani, running our way after the show, her burgundy braids flying behind her in celebration. It reminded me of being a kid, getting my hair done in micros for the first time. Being so excited, feeling so pretty. Until my white middle school classmates teased me, calling me Medusa-head for weeks. I’d never worn my hair that way since.
I slapped Amani five as the Deltas debriefed about everything that went good and bad in their performance. They spoke in half-sentences and inside jokes that they all got without anyone having to explain. “You’re right,” I said to Jrue once we were alone again. I rocked up onto my toes with an air of kinship that felt like flying. “We ain’t have nothing like this back in Michigan.”
On the day of the audition, I was calmer than I expected to be, standing in front of Dr. Watkins and Dr. Cherry—theplum-lipped and polite chair of the music department—both with clipboards in their hands and only the hint of an encouraging smile on their faces. The room was buzzing with the noise of the restless Jubilee Singers, who had sacrificed their rehearsal time for this, for me, and were making up for it by intoning and scowling. But when I looked over at Jrue, seated in front of the organ, his smile was huge and reassuring. We’d stayed up most of the night practicing in the room in the library where we first met. I wasn’t sure how the double audition was going to go, but even bigger than my fear was my hope. Hope that here, for once, I could fit.
“Is this what you want?” Jrue had asked last night, at the end of our rehearsal. “At first, it seemed like you weren’t sure about getting involved with Jubilee, or Delta. Now you’re tryna do it all, and I guess I just wanna make sure that I didn’t put pressure on you to do that.”
I shook my head. “You’re sweet to ask, but no. You didn’t pressure me. This place just feels different. Like I can fit in here, find my cookies or whatever.” I laughed and Jrue did, too.
“Aight, just checking,” he said smoothly, reaching his hand out to grab mine. “Let’s get you back to your dorm so you can get some rest.”
Without hesitation, I placed my hand in his. “Peanut butter,” I said, after a beat. “That’s my cookie. Granny and me would bake them together when I was little. My favorite, not hers.” I laughed. “And honestly, not many people’s favorite. But she made peanut butter cookies for me and would even try a bite here and there. And, I don’t know, maybe it’s silly but I think that’s what I’m looking for in my tribe. Folks that take me as I am and love me because of that, not in spite of it.”
Jrue gave my hand a squeeze and leaned closer so that we were walking shoulder to shoulder down the empty sidewalkoutside the library. “I gotta admit,” he said without meeting my eyes, “peanut butter cookies were never my favorite. But I guess I’d be willing to give ’em another try.” Then he met my eyes, playfully. “Who knows, maybe I’ll develop a taste for it.”
The chill that ran through my body when he stared at me and said those words was still coursing through my veins like adrenaline. I needed to ignore it now, though, or I would definitely not be able to focus on this audition.
“Whenever you’re ready,” said Dr. Watkins once I’d situated myself onstage.
I nodded, clutching the microphone between my heavy hands. The room swelled with Jrue’s organ. Its familiar melody released all the tension in my body. I opened my mouth and sang.
The last time I visited my granny in Georgia was the day after my eighteenth birthday. I had just finished freshman year, and though I had been conspiring with Granny weekly on secret plans to transfer to Fisk after that first year, I was there to deliver bad news: I had changed my mind. I wanted to stay at UofM, just for another year, at least. Until I felt ready to make such a big decision. I needed to explain it to Granny in person. I needed to figure out how to explain it first.
