Why We Fly: Chapters 16–21

Finally, just before they’d left the room, he’d told them, “If I dig deeper and find there have been similar infractions that resulted in lesser punishments, this school will be in for a rude awakening.”

I’m finally able to share more of what I learned at camp, things I never got to teach the team because of what a debacle this season has been so far.

We’re all getting along just fine, until one practice when Leni calls for us to practice our pregame routine, and we devolve into a mess.

Leni does not allow frivolous things, other than the occasional boy, to disrupt her psyche.

So, I did read your email, but why don’t you reiterate what exactly we’re discussing today?

“Further, an audit of punishments handed out at this school revealed that on no other occasion did a student’s exercise of their right to protest in a manner that did not disrupt classes receive such a long suspension. The lawyers are confident we’ll be able to show Chanel was unjustly singled out for an unusually harsh punishment, and I am too.”

Three months ago, when I discovered the program, I felt fully confident I would be a member of this cohort.

If Alana were here, she would have already ripped this envelope from my hands and given me a great pep talk about how amazing I am no matter what’s inside. I could FaceTime her. But the idea of reading a rejection aloud is mortifying.

We wish you all the best in your future endeavors, and we are confident you will shine in all you attempt.

The stern demeanor she had melts away. She looks a little hurt, and there’s a slight quiver in her voice.

That skill seems to have atrophied like the muscles I couldn’t use while I was laid up after my falls.

I recap it for her: the fallout, Nelly’s suspension, how the administration hasn’t let up, and how demoralizing it was. “It feels like they’ve taken something away from us. I just want to get it back. Or else...or else they’ve won.”

The team is still milling around, some filtering down the walkway toward the parking lot, others straggling behind me.

“We’re in final preparation mode for the expungement clinic,” Gisela is saying.

I’ve been finalizing preparations with the district attorney’s office, the solicitor general’s office, and the county commissioner. With your volunteers staffing the event, in one day, the streamlined process we’ve developed will help clear records of arrests, minor charges, pretrial diversion program participation, and more.

We’re expecting hundreds of people, all of whom will leave this building with improved prospects for employment and securing housing and with fewer collateral consequences for being a formerly incarcerated person.

When the meeting moves on to logistical matters for the day of the clinic, I Google her organization and read about how they’re one of the few nonprofits working on criminal record restriction in the state.

The prior generation's participation doesn’t absolve us of our responsibility to keep doing the work, internally and in the broader community.

Gisela is a lawyer. She came across the CRG at a pro bono fair her firm hosted and wanted to get involved, so she asked what kind of support they were looking for.

I am so happy for her, and I don’t begrudge her the excitement, even if I am disappointed things aren’t happening for me the way I expected them to.

“We’d rather stay in the locker room.”
There was a general consensus, and then we went out and slayed our State routine.

She wears dark red lipstick, made up even out here in the blazing heat on a warm-up day. We all are too. No one looks at a bedraggled team like they might be something to worry about, even if it is just a practice day.

“We deserve to be here. We’re resilient. No matter what happens, it’s not just about today. It’s about our legacy. We’ve earned this.”

The administration made its feelings clear back in the fall. We’re persona non grata at this school.

The team has been on alert ever since, cordoning us off from each other. Maneuvering me to sit on the opposite side of the lunchroom. Warning me if he’d be at some party I wanted to go to.

“This young record-holding quarterback became embroiled in a bit of controversy earlier this year that some thought might have an impact on this day.”

"...I have confidence that a coach will see him for the leader he is and understand the passion he will bring to everything he does, especially the game. I look forward to the day I face off against Sam Walters across an offensive line.”
“Quite an endorsement from Cody Knight,” Alan says.

Pete laughs, not the usual disingenuous laugh of a TV news anchor. It’s the laugh of someone who’s been caught off guard.

It would be easier to tease back and live with the ambiguity. I push that desire into a box, clear my throat, and say firmly, “I feel like I do need to be clear, though.”

The last big event to get through before prom is the Letterman Banquet honoring athletes. It’s basically an homage to Three, considering all the records he broke this year.

He walks the stage—tastefully decorated by Mrs. Irons with flowers and a blue-and-green balloon arch—to accept awards so often, they stop sending him back to his seat and let him stay on the dais.

His family commandeers two tables up front, and they’re filled with his parents, his brothers, and their families—even Ray, who stands and cheers for our very own superstar as loud as anyone.

She reveals a small, iridescent taffeta satchel.

They were given to her by a wealthy plantation owner who was so smitten with her that he freed her and her children.

Women in my family have been presented with this necklace for nearly two centuries now, usually for huge occasions—weddings, graduations, the birth of a child. My mom loves to tell the story of my grandmother placing them around her neck for the AME debutante ball.

Sometimes, the sorority president and the most esteemed sorors attend and hand out thousands of dollars’ worth of scholarships to only the most deserving students.

The pleased faces of the organizers and the impressed looks of our fellow students are invigorating.

Then she appears: the president of the sorority, in all of her profound regality, to present the scholarship everyone is hoping for.

“Here at the seventy-eighth annual Ivy and Pearls scholarship breakfast, I’m proud to present the Crown Legacy Award for exemplifying excellence through sustainable service to Chanel Irons.”

Where I live, I am celebrated only by a few of my peers—my cheer team, predominately. To most others, I’m a blight on my community’s good name.