Growing up the idea of you looking different never crossed your mind. Your dad avoided the idea and your mom simply never talked about it. You lived in a nice predominate white neighborhood in a three-story home just outside the city of Philadelphia, getting dressed in a preppy uniform with royal blue and red colors, the school logo on the right breast of the blazer. In the mirror, while doing your hair you start to think about your curls and how haven't seen them in a long time, running the flat iron down the last strand you grab your bag and head out the door.
The school was never a problem it was always great walking the hallways with the same crew walking past the few you’ve seen with the same face as yours. All of you are too scared to speak to each other. The questions about your hair and the attention were always on you during history class. The big building is engulfed in secrets and stories about the party that happened last weekend. It never occurred to you that you are one of the three non-white faces in the class as all your friends are white and they've never treated you differently. "Last night I'm pretty sure I twerked better than you did" your friend laughs, the others joining, and although you didn't get the joke you laugh too. You weren't at the party and you don't even know how to twerk but you laughed as it was a harmless joke.
Tonight another party, you think about going before slipping out of bed and putting on your shoes, and telling your parents that you're going to your friend's house. Your parents always trusted this neighborhood even when it was dark because it was quiet and White. The bass booms as soon as you step into the house people start to stare and look your way as if you don't belong there. You walk around the house through their stares your friends pulling you into a hug ask you to record them rapping to a Lil Baby song.