She was a senior, seventeen and a girl who used to think she was so much better than me. She looked so joyous as I handed over the work. “There bett...r not be any mistakes.”“There won’t be,” she said, clutching it to her chest like it was something precious.“And let’s see, who’s good at math?”“I have a three point eight five,” said a Black girl. She had glasses perched on her nose. She was a freshman, but she looked smart. The type a girl who’d be in math class far more advanced than she should. I didn't have to. The fact that I was standing there said it all. He looked me over, looked out at the car and said, "Get your things and come in."Now that the moment had arrived I was more afraid than ever. The look on his face didn't help. He despised me and he made no effort to hide it. For most of my life I have gotten by, at least to the degree that I have managed to get by, on looks and personality. Those things were not going to help me now. Nor would my sexuality, another tool I made. More

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