She Thinks She’s Too Good
Wallflower: Chapter 2
Most days after school, my best friend Tia and I would stop at “the complex” to see who was outside. Steps away from our building and only a few blocks from school, the community of townhouses almost always had groups of kids playing ball or hanging out close by their homes.
It seemed as if the whole neighbourhood was out on that warm spring day. A staircase leading up to a set of townhomes was packed with people. Some were sitting, and others stood on the stairs of the stoop.
“Let’s go say hi to Jermaine,” Tia says as she nudges me toward the group.
“Okay,” I respond with only a slight hesitation.
At the bottom of the stoop, I glance up at the tall, imposing steps. Tia has already made her way to the top, leaving me steps behind her. She stops to share a wide grin and a hug with those she recognizes along the way. I’m more focused on making it up to the entryway. When I reach the landing, I squeeze into a corner closest to the doorway and lean against the brick wall.
It’s easy to slip into the background when Tia is there. Her boisterous laugh and goofy personality always steal the show in this group. I laugh happily at the jokes and nod along as she and others speak.
For most of my youth, I lived between two worlds. In one world, I got to be around a group of kids who looked like me. Most of us were of Caribbean or African descent, connected by the block that made up our neighbourhood. From our love of hip-hop to the latest music video fashions we tried our best to emulate, our shared interests felt affirming to me.
Then on the other side, I was one of only two Black girls in my grade. When Tia started at our school in the fourth grade, she joined us as the third. But I’ve known most of my friends and classmates since senior kindergarten. Birthday parties, school dances, and Friday night group trips to the movies. Around them, I could talk, dance, and laugh freely.
Yet, it was hard to feel like I fit in completely with either space.
I glance at Tia, who laughs indulgently. With a deep throaty cackle, she’s hunched over, clutching her stomach with one hand and grabbing a friend’s shoulder with her other.
I look down at my plastic watch. It’s 4:20 pm. I have to be inside before my mom gets home from work. With a clear view of the parking lot across the street from where we're standing, I scan the plaza to see if I can catch a glimpse of mom going into any of the stores.
“Safia thinks she’s too good for us.” A male voice interrupts my anxious thoughts.
It’s Jermaine, a good friend of Tia’s older brother, who smirks over his shoulder as he turns to face his friends. Jermaine’s the guy who walks into a room expecting to be noticed. If you aren’t aware of him at first, he damn sure makes his presence known before he leaves. He’s the kind of guy whose reputation precedes him, and often not for positive things.
“I don’t get why she doesn’t talk.”
It catches me off guard how much I want to hide, but I pretend I’m not bothered.
With all eyes on me, I feel unnerved but mostly angry at my inability to think of a cool comeback or respond with playful wit.
Rather than a constant state of timidity, my type of introversion was the kind that snuck up on me unexpectedly. Sometimes it was because too many people were around, while at other moments, someone would say something that rattled my nerves. I’d lose control of my body as it shook with anxiousness while I struggled to string a coherent sentence together.
In this state, I felt unrecognizable. Like a whole different person. A distance away from the girl who tried out for every school play or rarely missed a friend’s party.
After a painful second of silence, another guy’s voice chimes in, “Just ‘low her, man, she’s shy.”
Jermaine shrugs. Everyone else returns to their conversations without missing a beat.
I check my watch again. It’s time to go home.
This post is written by Safia Bartholomew — writer and co-creator of CRY. Her debut web series, Wallflower, will be out in Spring 2023. Watch the teaser video here.