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"
I
guess
we
should
talk
about
racism
in
the
Old
South
,
or
something
.
"
Kim
ever
so
slightly
rolled
her
eyes
,
which
made
me
want
to
throw
a
dictionary
at
her
.
I
was
caught
off
guard
by
how
intensely
I
already
hated
her
.
"
I
read
this
book
at
my
old
school
,
"
she
said
.
"
The
racism
thing
is
kind
of
obvious
.
I
think
the
bigger
thing
is
people
’
s
goodness
.
Are
they
naturally
good
and
turned
bad
by
stuff
like
racism
or
are
they
naturally
bad
and
need
to
work
hard
not
to
be
?
"
"
Whatever
,
"
I
said
.
"
It
’
s
a
stupid
book
.
"
I
didn
’
t
know
why
I
’
d
said
that
because
I
’
d
actually
loved
the
book
and
had
talked
to
Dad
about
it
;
he
was
using
it
for
his
student
teaching
.
I
hated
Kim
even
more
for
making
me
betray
a
book
I
loved
.
"
Fine
.
We
’
ll
do
your
idea
,
then
,
"
Kim
said
,
and
when
we
got
a
B
minus
,
she
seemed
to
gloat
about
our
mediocre
grade
.
After
that
,
we
just
didn
’
t
talk
.
That
didn
’
t
stop
teachers
from
pairing
us
together
or
everyone
in
the
school
from
assuming
that
we
were
friends
.
The
more
that
happened
,
the
more
we
resented
it
—
and
each
other
.
The
more
the
world
shoved
us
together
,
the
more
we
shoved
back
—
and
against
each
other
.
We
tried
to
pretend
the
other
didn
’
t
exist
even
though
the
existence
of
our
nemeses
kept
us
both
occupied
for
hours
.
I
felt
compelled
to
give
myself
reasons
why
I
hated
Kim
:
She
was
a
Goody
Two
-
shoes
.
She
was
annoying
.
She
was
a
show
-
off
.
Later
,
I
found
out
that
she
did
the
same
thing
about
me
,
though
her
major
complaint
was
that
she
thought
I
was
a
bitch
.
And
one
day
,
she
even
wrote
it
to
me
.
In
English
class
,
someone
flung
a
folded
-
up
square
of
notebook
paper
onto
the
floor
next
to
my
right
foot
.
I
picked
it
up
and
opened
it
.
It
read
,
Bitch
!
Nobody
had
ever
called
me
that
before
,
and
though
I
was
automatically
furious
,
deep
down
I
was
also
flattered
that
I
had
elicited
enough
emotion
to
be
worthy
of
the
name
.
People
called
Mom
that
a
lot
,
probably
because
she
had
a
hard
time
holding
her
tongue
and
could
be
brutally
blunt
when
she
disagreed
with
you
.
She
’
d
explode
like
a
thunderstorm
,
and
then
be
fine
again
.
Anyhow
,
she
didn
’
t
care
that
people
called
her
a
bitch
.
"
It
’
s
just
another
word
for
feminist
,
"
she
told
me
with
pride
.
Even
Dad
called
her
that
sometimes
,
but
always
in
a
jokey
,
complimentary
way
.
Never
during
a
fight
.
He
knew
better
.
I
looked
up
from
my
grammar
book
.
There
was
only
one
person
who
would
’
ve
sent
this
note
to
me
,
but
I
still
scarcely
believed
it
.
I
peered
at
the
class
.
Everyone
had
their
faces
in
their
books
.
Except
for
Kim
.
Her
ears
were
so
red
that
it
made
the
little
sideburnlike
tendrils
of
dark
hair
look
like
they
were
also
blushing
.
She
was
glaring
at
me
.
I
might
have
been
eleven
years
old
and
a
little
socially
immature
,
but
I
recognized
a
gauntlet
being
thrown
down
when
I
saw
it
,
and
I
had
no
choice
but
to
take
it
up
.
When
we
got
older
,
we
liked
to
joke
that
we
were
so
glad
we
had
that
fistfight
.
Not
only
did
it
cement
our
friendship
but
it
also
provided
us
our
first
and
likely
only
opportunity
for
a
good
brawl
.
