Lucy in my eyes1/6/2023 Behind them, the LaLas stood, disbelief twitching off one girl’s face and onto the other. She was still trying to kick Lucy as Coach pulled her away. On the floor, in the middle of a mess of backpacks and clothes and books, Angela was furious. She was bleeding but felt nothing other than the ecstatic beating of her heart. There was a long streak of vibrant red across the pale skin of her palm. She stood and wiped her hand across her face. Lucy swung first and kept swinging, her fists connecting with the body beneath her until Coach Daniels blew her whistle. Lucy fell back against the metal lockers, her head colliding with a lock, the pain making brilliant spots of color in front of her eyes, and with that, Lucille Jones was done turning the other cheek. Lucy grabbed the long thick braids that trailed down her back and tried to think of a comeback-something, anything-but before she could, Angela turned her around and then pushed her hard. One of the LaLas, either LaDonnia or LaTasha, freshman girls who’d once been friends with Lucy, said, “Cut her hair!” and laughed. Instead, she turned away as her mother had taught her. When Angela cornered Lucy in the girls’ locker room and said, “White girl!” there was a moment when Lucy wanted to tell her how she wasn’t white or black, only the perfect mix of both, which is what her father liked to say.
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