Author's Note: This is my first story so I apologise for the crappy writing. The first few chapters might be a bit boring. Also, sorry guys. No HueyXJazmine in this. I just don't ship it. Please review and all criticism is welcome. xx

CHAPTER 1

"It is criminal to teach a man to not to defend himself when he is constant victim of brutal attacks." – Malcolm X

Huey Freeman slammed his front door shut. He was tired. Tired of all the bullshit. All the injustice.

It has been eight years since he moved with his younger brother, Riley, and his grandfather, Robert, to Woodcrest, a majority white suburban neighbourhood. He was now eighteen years old and waiting for when he could leave his hellhole of a high school.

He and Riley both started in Hoover Elementary and now they were in Hoover High. During their academic career, countless other black students had joined but left quickly, anywhere from after a year to a couple of days. Their school didn't care about its non-white students, the black students getting the least attention. Ignorance, racism and a total disregard for the feelings of black students might as well be part of the school motto.

It was their first day of school and they'd spent only three hours there. The first day was when they all got their supplies, timetables and 'important' talks which usually consisted of "I hope you had a great Summer" and "this is a new year, a new start, so make it count".

The talks weren't what had gotten Huey so irritated. A black boy named Jerome had joined Riley's year group seven months ago. He was from Barbados and people used to make fun of his accent all the time. He had gotten used to it and payed them no mind.

During their assembly, a girl tried to mimic his accent and called themselves some racial slurs. This provoked the Bajan boy to anger, causing him to curse out the girl. She laughed and continued, prompting the boy to swing at her. She ended up on the ground receiving blows left from right. To make it quick, the girl's father, head of the police force, was called in and the boy got expelled and, if Ed Wuncler III could help it, deported with his family.

Even though Huey knew the boy could've handled the situation better, Malcolm X said it best. You can't tell someone not to react when they're getting attacked, even if it is verbally.

This expulsion was nothing compared to what else has happened during his years of growing up in Woodcrest. Over the years, Black students had been accused of stealing, skipping school, selling drugs, rape and so much more. The abuse wasn't even just in school. Huey has been racially profiled so many times he gave up counting years ago. It's always a new story, every day.

It's not like Huey hadn't done anything. Huey had A.F.R.O, he had B.R.O, he had B.R.U.H. These are organisations he created for black people. And yet, these organisations he created hadn't changed a thing in Woodcrest. It's as if blackness doesn't exist here.

Huey went up to his room. He threw his bookbag across his bed and sat at his desk. He glanced at himself in the mirror, comparing his face to the image of his ten-year-old self pinned in the corner.

His face was more mature. He had a more defined jaw and his lips were slightly fuller. He was quite muscular, due to his diet and constant working out in the gym and dojo. His eyebrows were thicker, his mouth still in its ever-present scowl, his afro taller than ever. His eyes were the same deep brown, both large and intelligent.

Huey Freeman had changed a lot mentally too. He was more militant than ever, a proud Pan-Africanist. Black nationalism was all that he knew, and he couldn't wait to leave Woodcrest in order for him to be more open with his views. Religion wise, he was spiritual. He prayed to his God, and that was it. He was interested in African religion, but he had to do research on that first.

Huey picked up a book, 'Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome: America's Legacy of Enduring Injury and Healing', by Joy DeGury Leary. Reading was his escape from all the harsh realities around him. It calmed Huey. More than weed ever did.

After being lost in his book for a good ten minutes, some loud music brought him back to reality. 'Hip Hop' by Dead Prez was booming through the walls. Riley was home. Huey put his novel down with great frustration and exited his room. He made his way across the landing and knocked on Riley's door. He waited till Riley answered, "Come in!"

Huey opened the door and looked at his younger brother. At age sixteen, he was extremely different from his eight-year-old self. He, too, looked more mature and was extremely muscular. Not as much as Huey but with a couple of years of hard work, the two could be easily play each other's double. Riley still rocked his signature braids and wore a 'YR' gold chain, representing 'Young Reezy', an alias he still liked to go by. He had on a black hoodie reading 'black by popular demand'. The youngest Freeman ended up following in his older brother's footsteps. He was more socially and racially conscious and respectful.

He wasn't interested in being a gangster but still referred to himself as the, "realest nigga," and was very big on using violence to fight the system. Riley wasn't as educated as his elder brother and where Huey used logic and skill, Riley used emotion and passion. They were opposite sides on the same coin. He was tired of his school, like Huey, and was envious of the fact he was leaving after a year.

"Riley, can you please turn down that music?"

Riley raised an eyebrow.

"Man, you always hatin'. Can't a brother listen to some music in peace?"

"Not when another brother can't get some peace. Just use some damn earphones."

Riley rolled his eyes and started rapping along to his music, "Uh, who shot Biggie Smalls? If we don't get them, they gon' get us all. I'm down for runnin' up on them crackers in they city hall. We ride for – hey! Nigga, put my shit back on!"

Huey had pulled the plug from Riley's speaker and handed his younger brother some earphones. He left the room as Riley muttered something about not being able to feel the vibrations as he exited.

Huey's phone vibrated in his pocket and he read a text from his friend, Michael Caesar. Everyone called him Caesar and he was like Huey in his thinking. They weren't exactly alike, though. Caesar tended to criticise society whilst Huey actively sought to make a difference.

The text message read: Yo, Melissa's buggin. Complaining I haven't seen her in a month. She threatening to come and see me, man, what do I do?

Huey rolled his eyes. Caesar's dad and he moved to Woodcrest a couple of years after Huey. He left a girl he'd been smitten with in New York. Six years later and they were still going strong. Caesar often asked Huey for help when Melissa got into it with Caesar because he, "understands women". Huey disagreed. He'd never even liked a girl before. He'd had celebrity crushes. Amara La Negra and Bria Myles were gorgeous, he couldn't deny that. But to actually feel for a girl his age. Never happened. He assumed it was because he was surrounded by white and a couple of Asian girls who weren't his type. The only black girl in his school was Jazmine and she was just a friend.

He messaged Caesar back: Invite her to the dance

M-C: Tf I look like, going to a 'dance'? It'll just be a bunch of white kids dancing off-beat to Ariana Cappuccino

H: *Grande. & knowing u 2, u'll just end up in a hotel.

M-C: Not helping. She says she wants to abstain till marriage.

H: Sucks 4 you

M-C: Fuck you Huey

H: I'm not the one asking a single guy for relationship advice. That's like asking the U.S. government to fight systematic oppression.

M-C: Hey, it's a NeW yEaR nEw StArT, maybe you'll get a girl

H: My type isn't in Woodcrest?

M-C: What's your type?

H: Dark-skinned, intelligent, natural, pro-black, gorgeous af. Someone that won't put up with bullshit. And we both know bullshit and Woodcrest are synonymous

M-C: Jazzy ticks one of those boxes…She's gorgeous, right?

H: Ur gf is probs calling you, bye.

M-C: Man, you didn't even help me. Bye.

Huey rolled his eyes, yawned and looked at the time. It was seventeen past one in the afternoon but he felt like sleeping. He took off his shirt, revealing his sculpted chest, kicked of his sneakers and lay in his bed.

"A new year, a new start, my ass," he said to himself.

"Different toilet, same old bullshit."