Nicole D. Collier - Just Right Jillian

Its all Rashidas fault.

Well, my Mama says dont say that. Never start a story with the other person, she says. But sometimes you gotta start with the other person to tell the story. Only this is not a story story. Its the truth.

Mama teaches womens leadership workshops. She says leaders look inside, so my problem isnt really with anyone out there. She makes you point at your imaginary problem, then she makes a big deal about your other three fingers pointing back at you.

I dont know about any of that, but I do know my problem is totally Rashida. Shes my Foe, with a capital F. A foe is your opponent. Or your enemy. Im not sure were enemies, but it feels that way some days.

Most days.

Rashidas the smartest person in our school. Even smarter than some teachers, I bet. We were both in Mr. Grays fourth grade class last year, when Rashida was new to Jemison Elementary.

Everyone thinks shes all that. She speaks crisply, as Mama would say. She pronounces all her letters, that kinda thing. Her long black twists are thick and shinyno frizzes flying around. Her sister, Valerie, is like her twin, even though Valerie is a year younger. They dress alike, wearing skirts in invisible colors like beige, tan, blue, or gray. And its not just them. All the girls blend in with each other. Its not a school uniform or a rule. Boring is just whats in these days, I guess. We all wear ponytails and colors that make you yawn. Unless you wanna stick out like a sore thumb, you just go with the flow. Rashida and Valerie are the flow.

They have smooth cocoa brown skin. No freckles. No zits. No braces. No glasses. Nothing. They are perfect. A matching set, tall and graceful.

On the other hand, theres me. I have a small gap in my two front teeth and little moles on my cheeks. Beige makes me want to vomit, but I wear it like everyone else.

Rashida glides everywhere. I run. Across the field. Down the hall. Around the bases. Each day, my black-brown hair is frazzled and dusty by the end of recess. And Daddy tells me to stop swallowing my letters. Only he hears it as swallowin. No g.

So thats Rashida, and I guess me, too. And now were in fifth grade.

Ms. Warren (Ms. W. or Ms. Dub for short) is our teacher this year. And shes different. Shes younger, like a big sister or a cool auntie. But in some ways she seems older, wise like my Grammy Ruby. She wears her hair cut low, almost bald. And she always has supercool earrings. She looks like a model. Shes fun, but she doesnt take any foolishness from kids or anyone else.

She wears these round glasses. Theyre gold! Have you have ever seen a teacher wear gold glasses? They sparkle, and she can see everything when she puts them on. Everything and everyone, me included. Even thoughif Im being honestsometimes I dont want anyone to see me at all.

Today we played a math game. Sometimes Ms. W. makes us work on speed and accuracy with class competitions. Todays game was Last Man Standing. We should make up a new name because theres no men in our class. Just boys, girls, and Scottie, who doesnt like to be called either one. Heres how the game works:

1. Ms. W. pulls two names from her cup.
2. She calls out a math problem. Easy at first, but they get harder as we go.
3. Whoevers quickest and accurate wins the round. Their name goes back into play. The other person is out.

Everyone keeps working on the problems just for fun as Ms. W. goes to the next two people.

She goes pair by pair at random until its the last two. The winner of that round is the last man standing, and she wins the whole thing.

So we played, and finally it was down to us. Me vs. Rashida. My Sworn Enemy. Foe. Or whatever. Guess what happened?

I won.

I. Beat. Rashida.

I finished working the problem while she scribbled the answer. I laid my purple pen on the desk with no fanfare. I floated my hands to the corners of the desk while everyone watched.

But they werent watching me, they were watching her. Because they knew she was going to win. Ms. W. hovered halfway between us, her eyes on Rashida, too.

I listened as Rashidas perfectly sharpened Ticonderoga pencil scratched across her paper. As usual, I kept my face down, kept my mouth shut. I did not put my hand up. I did not yell DONE! I did not do a single thing but grip my desk and disappear. I became invisible.

Like my skirt. Like my desk. Beige.

Seconds ticked by like hours, and finally my Foe, my opponent, Rashida, slammed her pencil down in relief as she yelled DONE! Loud and proud. Just like I should have. Or could have, but didnt.

I looked up to see what I already knew was true. Ms. W. peered over her golden glasses, checked Rashidas work, and nodded. You got it! You win!

The winner gets chocolate. Not just one of the itty-bitty minis. Ms. W. gives out fun-sized! Rashida reached into the huge bag of assorted treats and noisily swirled them around. She yanked out a Snickers, tore it open, and chomped the end.

Yum! she yelled in delight. The sweet taste of victory! She even flicked her gleaming ponytail.

There was no such joy for me. No flick of the hair. No chomping on my chosen treat. No crunchy milk chocolate and caramel swirls. Instead, my throat was thick with envy.

I couldnt swallow the lump.

My classmates whispered and giggled as they put away their papers and began packing their bags. Ms. W. swept her eyes to me now. I pretended not to notice as I packed up my things. Before the last bell rang, she slid over to me and looked down. First at me, then at my paper. She saw the truth. The real truth.

My correct answer. My silence.

She made a noise that only I could hear. Hem. I tugged my ponytail, a twist, low and on the left like every other girl in fifth grade. She waited, and I let my eyes float up to meet her gaze. She pulled off her glasses, and her deep brown eyes asked me why. Why didnt I challenge Rashida after I promised myself I would? Why didnt I speak up? My eyes revealed nothing. They did not answer back. Instead I blinked and looked away.

The bell announced the end of school. I wouldnt have to explain myself this time.

And what would I say? I let Rashida win because I am too shy. I won, but to everyone else, me mostly, I lost. Again.

Ms. W. dismissed us, and I rushed to the bus.

I held it in until I got all the way home. I remained silent the ten minutes on the bus even though I wanted to yell at myself. Or cry. But I never cry in public, so silence won.

Man, yo mama feet so crusty... Marquez started todays round of yo mama jokes. Without missing a beat, he caught the paper plane Shelby sailed in his direction. I stared out the window, silently urging Ms. Sally to drive the bus faster.

I clamped my mouth shut so I wouldnt grind my teeth. Did you know that biting the back sides of your tongue is the best way to keep your mouth still? Mama taught me that.

I jumped off first at my stop. Janice and William followed next, whispering to each other. Im sure I heard the word