East Chapel Academy

Chapter 6- Nia

    "All right, Nia, you can sit today out, but tomorrow you'll have to dress out with everyone else," said Mr. Peters. 

    He was a short, gruff man. With salt and pepper hair, he wore a pair of grey shorts and a worn East Chapel Academy t-shirt.

    "You can sit on the bleachers and observe," he directed me to the rows of green bleachers along the wall.

    I sat on the bleachers and watched the other students begin to stretch they wore matching gym uniforms, green sweats and navy t-shirts, East Chapel Academy Physical Ed., was printed across the front. Mr. Peters, or Coach, said he would get me one too.

    "So what excuse did you use?" A girl asked from behind me.

    "What?" I asked, turning around. She was pale, and her silver white hair didn't do much to help that. She looked like a fairy, and her eyeliner was on point. I wish I could do my eyeliner that well, Tasha tried to teach me, but it was a disaster, eyeliner was all over my hands.

    "How'd you get out of participating? I said I had cramps," she explained, setting her phone next to her on the bleachers. "It's my signature. A trick I learned in middle school, 'If you're always on the rag, you never have to play tag.'"

    "Nice," I chuckled. "I'm new, so he said I could sit out."

    "Hmm, never used that one before. Do you think I could get away with that? I mean I have been going here since kindergarten, but I'm sure Coach would believe it. He's not the brightest."

    "Maybe," I replied. "But I think he knows who you are, you tell him you have cramps every day, remember?"

    "You're right," she agreed. "My names Lavender by the way."

    "Nia," I replied, shaking her hand.

    "Oh, you must be the new girl," she said.

    "Guilty," I shrugged. "It's my first day."

    "Is it true that your dad is an FBI agent and you guys had to move here, because you're in the witness protection program?" Lavender asked.

    What? Is that what people are saying about me, that my dad is an FBI agent. "Uh, no. And even if I was in the witness protection program, I wouldn't be able to tell you."

    "I knew that was a lie, so what's your story. Why did you transfer in the middle of a semester?"

    "I got a scholarship, and now I'm here," I explained. "It's not as exciting as the whole FBI thing."

    "You're right, it's not," she said, brushing her hair to the side. "Maybe you should lie."

    I laughed. "Should I be in the witness protection program or maybe drunken supermodel?"

    "Definitely, drunken supermodel," Lavender laughed along with me.

    "Did your parents name you after the flower on purpose or was it just a freak accident?"

    I never understood how people can say that black names are ghetto, and hard to pronounce. When white people do the exact same thing, they just name their kids after plants, Sequoia, Birch, and of course, Lavender.  Or they give them a standard name like Ashley, but they spell it, A-s-h-l-e-I. Teachers can still pronounce it though, but my name is only three letters, and it never fails a teacher will always get it wrong. What a load of B.S.

    "It was a mixture of both. My mom had a water birth, and in the room, they were burning lavender, and hence the name lavender. They're like super hippy herbalists, it was either lavender or patchouli. Thank, God, they chose lavender," she said.