Rachel

My family moved here from the south. Where all the country folks are. Not the african-americans. I'm talkin' 'bout the white people. Cleveland, Ohio- the worst place my family could choose to move. Yet, here we are, in our new big apartment overlooking the Gibb Street Garden. I prefer our cozy barn with our horses who we sold to our old neighbors. We've been here for exactly two weeks and I still can wait for school to start. It starts in... three days! My family isn't poor, we actually have plenty of spare money. But all that is saved for me and my little sister to go to school later down the road. When my dad thought about leaving our little small house back on the farm, I objected immediately. Especially when I found out that we were going to Cleveland. My dad had found out that there was a large lot in this town, where many people planted food to sell or to grow to eat. My dad said that being community farmers was better because you could get advice from nearby farmers too. I still wanted to stay in Tennessee. But it wasn't my choice. I'm only a kid, almost 12 years old. I can't tell anyone but myself what to do, and I still have to follow the orders of my parents. Soon, it was the first day of school. I was afraid of what my classmates would think of me. My accent is really dramatic, and these folks sure are to notice. I can't hide out in a corner or in the back of the room, everyone will be able to see me because I'm a new face in their school. That mornin', i woke up, put on my best jeans & t-shirt. I sighed, walkin' down those steps of our apartment building. I was sure these young folks ain't gonna like me. Not at all. I knew it for sure. "Payton, you'll be fine! Don't worry 'bout them Ohio folks. If they ain't smart enough to see the value you've got, it sure ain't your problem. It's their loss for not bein' able to make a new friend like you," Mama reassured me that mornin'. "Well... Fine, okay Mama. But if I run home cryin', you bet it's because of these people makin' fun of me. Got that?" I replied to her in a confident voice. "Hush... That ain't gonna happen to ya, sweet pea!" Mama walked over to me, slapped my head lightly. But ya know what? It did happen. Right after my talk with Mama, it happened, when I was walking to my new school. It was a blonde girl. In a puffy, pink ruffled dress. She came up to me, walkin' in step with me on the damaged side walk. "Ew. What are you wearing?" She picked at my blue shirt, like she was in the store and makin' fun of it on a display. She glanced at my favorite blue jeans. "Umm... it's just a t-shirt and jeans. Do you have them?" I asked her nicely and in a sort of whisper, even though I knew her answer would be snotty & rude. "Gross. That's, like, totally from a while ago. Don't you know that?" She fake-smiled at me, with full, white, sparkling teeth, and brought up the fact that new people never know anythin'. So she knew that I was new in town. I //told// Mama they would notice. "Oh, I-" She ran over across the street to two other girls, both wearing the same type of clothing she was, and didn't give me a chance to finish tellin' her my thoughts. But it wasn't like she even cared anyway. I saw her point to me, and the three of them laughed at me, loud and clear. They finally got ahold of themselves and left me alone. As I crossed the courtyard of my new middle school alone, I saw four girls that looked like 8th graders turn and giggle at me. I told Mama this was gonna happen to me. I sighed. I was right. Maybe they ain't sure about how people are dressed down south. They sure gonna make jokes out of my accent. It's gonna be a hard day for me now.

Three hours later, I was at home, tellin' my dad about my day while workin' in the Gibb Street Garden. We were diggin' spaces to grow okra. We eat a lot of it, and hoped that we could get the folks in Ohio to eat 'em, too. "They called me a... Well, it definitely ain't worth repeatin' to ya." I shook my head. "Papa?" I used to call him that when I was a real little girl back in Tennessee. Over these couple of years... Somethin's changed. "Yes, Payton?" He dug harder into the thick, black, Ohio soil. "Why aren't these girls givin' me a chance? Ya know, to show 'em who I really am? How come they keep... yellin' at me, and copyin' the way I talk?" I tried talkin' in a normal, Ohio accent so I could change the way I speak. "Honey... These folks ain't like us. Just stay away from 'em, alrighty now? Make other friends. You don't need these people to like you. As long as your happy with yourself and who you are. That's all that matters, 'kay, Payton?" He smiled at me. I saw the tooth, the one I accidently rearranged cause I sat on him once. It was a fun day, the day my Papa's tooth was a bit chipped on the side. "Well ok dad, I'll try that instead. And thanks. For listenin' to my story, I mean." I patted his shoulder. I thought I saw him stiffen his curved back. Just my imagination, I guess. <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype','Book Antiqua',Palatino,serif;">"Sure thing, darlin'." He went back to shobeling the dirt back into the hole we dug last night. I heard soft footsteps come close to our garden space. I turned. <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype','Book Antiqua',Palatino,serif;">"Excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear that you have been bullied? Is that... correct?" A man, old, around his 50s or 60s with shiny silver hair was talking to me. I pointed at myselft to make sure he was talking to me. "Yes, you, my dear." That was real creepy now. <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype','Book Antiqua',Palatino,serif;">"Oh... Well, yes, that is correct, sir." My dad hadn't even noticed this old man here talkin' to me. "Hey, sir, what's your name?" <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype','Book Antiqua',Palatino,serif;">"Oh. I'm Sam. And you are... Payton, right?" How did he know so much 'bout me? I didn't tell him a single thing 'bout myself. I started to worry 'bout this man, talkin' to me without my Papa even noticin'. <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype','Book Antiqua',Palatino,serif;">"Yes, sir, Payton is my name." I nodded, my straw hat tippin' just right over my eyes in the bright sun. I had the same hat as this one man, a friend of a real nice lady named Ana. He was real kind, showin' me where the well was located in this large lot. <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype','Book Antiqua',Palatino,serif;">"Let me help ya out. Stand up for yourself. Don't stand there and let them think that they won. Tell them what you're really thinking, and how you're really feeling." His hands kept moving around, motioning towards other directions. I could just barely focus on what he was saying to me. <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype','Book Antiqua',Palatino,serif;">"Thank you for that advice, Sam, but I think I can handle this on my own." I smiled and straightened up my back. <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype','Book Antiqua',Palatino,serif;">"Alright," Sam said, holdin' up his wrinkled hands. "Whatever floats your boat, Payton." He smiled at me in a friendly way, a big, toothy, old-guy type of smile. My dad still didn't notice him talkin' to me. "So, are ya liking school?" Sam smirked, his eyebrow furrowed. <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype','Book Antiqua',Palatino,serif;">"Sure," I replied honestly. "Ya know, besides those couple of girls makin' fun of me." We talked for a little bit longer, then Mama called me up to wash up for supper. We said our goodbyes and I told him that I would think about what he said. And honestly, I certainly did.

<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype','Book Antiqua',Palatino,serif;">Three weeks into school, and my classmates were still at it. They copied my southern talk, and made fun of my straw hats and overalls. Now, I was starting to question who I was and what my classmates had expected from me. Maybe my old bud Sammy from the garden was right. I guess I did need to stand up for myself. And soon, too. <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype','Book Antiqua',Palatino,serif;">Four days into the 4th week of school, I did it. I told them what I was feeling and thinking. I think they believed me, too. "Hey, get out of my way, Southie," a boy in the 7th grade said, pushing me off to the side. I stumbled, dropping my books, and fallin' to the ground. I stood up and walked up behind him, tappin' him on the shoulder. <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype','Book Antiqua',Palatino,serif;">"Hey! I don't know what ya'll are thinkin', but ya'll are very rude to me. You haven't made me welcome or happy at this school." I noticed a crowd starting to form around me. I was suddenly aware of my voice volume. "Hey, what would ya'll feel if I made fun of ya'll's clothes? And your accent? What if I copied that?" That's all it took. Suddenly everyone started to come up to me and apologize. I got a chorus of sorrys. I felt kinda good 'bout myself. Even though it took me way too long to stand up for myself, I still did it. I silently looked up in the sky and said, in a loud whisper, "Thank you, Sam. Thank you."