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Coming out of her reverie, Carla glanced at Jared Moore, a sixteen-year-old Black teen who always had the latest fashion whenever he came to school.

“What you think?” Jared said to Omega Price.

Omega’s parents weren’t as financially able as Jared’s. His fashion was the more affordable of their crew.

“Come on, fool. You already know,” Leon said.

“Excuse me?” Carla interrupted.

All eyes turned to her. “Watch your language and stop standing in the doorway. Are you coming to class, or am I counting you fellas absent today?”

They slowly entered.

“Good morning, Ms. Jones,” Omega greeted her.

“Good morning, Omega. How was your holiday?”

He smiled. “It was good.”

“Would’ve been better if you’d gotten those Js, though,” Leon said, laughing.

Omega waved him off. “Whatever, fool.”

“Hey!”

Omega covered his mouth as his eyes went back to Carla.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Jones.”

“Take your seat before you and Leon have after-school detention.”

They sighed and took a seat as more students filed inside the room. Laughter bubbled from a group of Caucasian girls. The popular group, headed by Carrie Magnolia, daughter of socialite Jenny McKinney, entered with her sidekicks, Samantha Sanders and Beverly Moore in tow.

“Did you see her hair? Oh, my God, I would kill my mother if she ever did that to me,” Samantha said, cutting her eyes behind her.

“She would’ve been better off going to her stylist. We’re not kids. What is her mother even doing, doing her hair anyway?” Beverly added.

“You idiot, her motherisa stylist,” Carrie mumbled. “Not a very good one.”

The girls laughed.

“A hot mess at its finest,” Samantha murmured.

“She must think she’s Dolly Parton with that big-ass hair,” Beverly added.

“Don’t disrespect Dolly Parton!” Carrie said, squinting at Beverly.

“I’m not.” Beverly folded her arms, and they made their way to their seats.

Trailing in behind them, Sicily Princeton, a Black student, clutched her books against her chest, her eyes downcast and her hair in a curly afro.

Carla sighed. These young people were so misguided about material possessions, hair, and what they thought made a person. It was a trend that went back to her youth and those before her as well.

She thought for a moment about how to get them to see they were all the same, had the same potential in life, and none of the things they held dear now would matter when they were adults.

This was a preparatory high school, after all. She needed to create a program that would force them to help each other and see that offering a helping hand and making a difference was the only thing that mattered.

Carla’s mind whirled throughout her lesson. One thing she was proud of was none of her students were failing her linguistics class. But there were a few, Samantha and Beverly included, who could benefit from a part-time tutor.