Chapter 2
A few hours later, Cindy followed several of her classmates out of a classroom and into a corridor. Despite the expected chilly outdoor temperature, she couldn't wait to go outside and eat the lunch that Alice, her family's housekeeper, had packed for her. Before heading outside, Cindy decided to get a drink of water from the nearby fountain. As she tried to operate it, the fountain sprayed water all over. Cindy shrieked as the fountain sprayed her face and soaked her red turtleneck and blue pants. Cindy then tried to shut off the fountain, but unfortunately, it kept spraying water, and before long, a big puddle had formed on the floor.
"I'd better get help!" cried Cindy. She turned around – only to bump into someone. In the blink of an eye, there was a load scream – followed by a "thud." Once again, Cindy had encountered the African-American girl with braided hair – who now was groaning on the wet floor as the fountain finally stopped spraying water.
Cindy's jaw dropped in horror. "Hey, are you okay?" she asked as she extended her right hand to help the girl get up.
Instead, the African-American girl glared at Cindy and snarled, "You again? YOU'RE the one who made me slip?"
"I'm really sorry about that," Cindy apologized. "I tried to use the fountain, but it just sprayed water everywhere. Let me help you up – " Cindy said – bending down.
The girl just swatted Cindy's hand. Water dripped from her green blouse and orange plaid pants as she stood up. "I don't want your 'help!'" she snapped. "All of you have 'helped' us enough over the years!"
Cindy raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm done talking to you. Just leave me alone while I try to find some lunch," the African-American girl said as she walked away.
Cindy held up the brown paper bag containing her lunch. "Hey, why don't we eat together?" Cindy called. "I've got – " Unfortunately, the girl exited through one of the double doors at the end of the corridor – slamming it loudly. Cindy lowered her paper bag as she stared sadly at the double doors.
After lunch, Cindy smiled as she entered Mr. Carmichael's classroom and sat at her desk in the front row. Her day hadn't gone particularly well, but she hoped that a history lesson from her favorite teacher would make her feel better. The lean, bespectacled African-American man could melt an icy heart with his warm smile and congenial personality. In addition, he often joked with his students and made them laugh. Surely he would brighten Cindy's day.
After a few minutes, Mr. Carmichael shut the door and then turned to face his students. "Good day, everyone!" he cheerfully greeted with his trademark smile.
"Hello, Mr. Carmichael," the students replied in unison.
"Well, as you all know, today is the first day of February. I'm sure that when you think of February, it's easy to think of Valentine's Day, am I right?" Mr. Carmichael asked. The students indicated their agreement. "Well, that's certainly not the only thing associated with February." He turned around and started writing on the chalkboard. He turned around again – revealing that he had written "BLACK HISTORY" on the chalkboard. "February has long been a time for celebrating black history." He then smiled and asked, "How many of you like peanuts?" Several hands, including Cindy's, went up. "Well, believe it or not, George Washington Carver, a black man, developed more than a hundred different uses for peanuts – including shampoo, rubber, and axle grease."
A few of the students' eyes popped open. "Axle grease?" a boy questioned in a somewhat loud voice. The other students and Mr. Carmichael turned their attention to the plump, dark-haired boy sitting behind Cindy. "I can't believe that! My pop's a mechanic, and I don't think he'd ever use peanuts for fixing cars!"
"Believe it!" Mr. Carmichael replied with a smirk – prompting a few students to laugh. "As Mr. Carver demonstrated, peanuts aren't just for eating, you know." Mr. Carmichael turned his attention back to the rest of the students. "Anyway, when we learn about black history, we learn about famous black inventors like Mr. Carver," Mr. Carmichael said. "We also learn about the plight of African-American people – their struggle for freedom from past experiences of slavery and racism. In fact, many believe that African-Americans still face injustices to this day."
Cindy narrowed her eyes in confusion. She didn't understand. Hadn't Martin Luther King ended racism with his speech in 1963?
He paused for a minute as he walked to a different position and then said, "We're going to learn about black history, and at the end of this month, I'd like you all to give a report on something relating to black history." He then walked to his desk and grabbed a metal can. Mr. Carmichael then walked toward the desks in the front row and said, "Go ahead and take a piece of paper out of this can and then pass it around. The subject of your report will be on whatever piece of paper you pick." The teacher then stumbled as he walked closer to one of the desks – causing everyone, including Cindy, to laugh. Mr. Carmichael himself chuckled a little as he handed the can to one of the students in the front row.
Cindy watched with interest as the can got closer and closer to her. At last, Cindy took the can and pulled out a little piece of paper before passing the can to the student on her right. Cindy looked at her paper and saw that she would have to do a report on an African-American community. She looked up and stared at the chalkboard – her eyes wide as she felt tension in her stomach. She didn't know of any African-American communities.
"Is something the matter, Cindy?"
Cindy jumped at the voice that cut through her head. She looked up and saw that Mr. Carmichael was looking at her with concern. "Oh, uh, I'm supposed to do a report on an African-American community…only I can't think of any."
Mr. Carmichael smiled. "Don't worry, Cindy, you'll have plenty of time to pick one. We'll be studying plenty about black history, so I'm sure that you'll be able to pick something."
Cindy then smiled herself and felt a little better. "I sure hope so," she said.
A short while later, Mr. Carmichael looked around the classroom. "Has everyone picked an assignment yet?" he asked – raising his voice.
"I haven't," replied a somewhat bitter voice from the back.
Mr. Carmichael and a few of the other students turned their attention to the back of the classroom. Cindy's eyes popped open when she saw the same African-American girl with whom she had negative interactions that day. The girl herself noticed Cindy as well – and crossed her arms as a scowl formed on her face. She then turned her attention to Mr. Carmichael, held up the can, and said, "There aren't any more pieces of paper inside."
The history teacher's eyes bulged in realization. "Oh my gosh, I am so sorry!" He then turned his attention to the other students and said, "Kids, I forgot to tell you that we have a new student joining us today!" Mr. Carmichael turned his attention back to the African-American girl and asked, "Why don't you stand up and tell the others a little about yourself?"
The girl sighed, stood up, and looked around the classroom as she spoke. "Hi, I'm Camille Williams. I moved here from Compton – where I spent all my life until now." She shrugged and said, "That's about all I can say right now." She sat down at her desk again and shot a glare at Cindy – who recoiled at her angry expression.
"Thank you for introducing yourself, Camille, and I do apologize for overlooking you," Mr. Carmichael said – walking to the back row to grab the can from Camille.
The girl snorted and said, "I'm used to it, anyway."
Mr. Carmichael frowned sympathetically. "I'm sorry to hear that. I'll make sure that never happens here." He looked back at Cindy. "Hey, why don't you be Cindy Brady's partner?" Mr. Carmichael suggested. "Her assignment is to do a report on an African-American community, and I'm sure that you could help her learn about Compton if you two decide to report on that community. It would also give you an opportunity to share with the other kids more about your past experiences there."
Camille muttered, "Fine."
The history teacher walked back to the front row and looked at Cindy. "You'll be working with Camille. I might suggest that you do a report on Compton since Camille moved from there," Mr. Carmichael said.
Cindy nodded and again looked back at Camille – who shot an annoyed glare at Cindy. As the youngest Brady quickly looked away in panic, she realized something. Camille was the only black person, other than Mr. Carmichael, in the whole room. All the other kids were white. As Cindy turned to face the chalkboard again, she felt more tension in her stomach at the thought of working with someone who hated her guts – but hoped that maybe she could become friends with Camille through their assignment.