It's Just Us [🗸]

our friends

***

JAMES

Raised voices, teens shouting over each other just to be heard, home lunches and the cafeteria lunch for today—I'm thinking some type of cheesy pasta—tinging the air, fueling into the usual chaos.

It's lunch time.

I take a seat at the table, pulling out my leftover pizza slices from my lunch box. 

The first slice of pizza has barely grazed my lips when Will slides in next to me, ripping half a slice from my plate.

I give him a look, the slice still halfway to my mouth, and Will grins."Chocolate brownie?" He offers, holding the homemade treat up in the air, and I nod, as he drops it into my container.

It's our usual exchange, and Will lifts the stolen pizza to his lips as the rest of the group slides into the empty seats around us.

"So," Alyssa starts, pulling her dark brown curls into a lazy bun, "teachers are already grilling us about Unspoken Voices."

I exhale a laugh in return, and Andrea and Kayla nod from either side of her. 

Unspoken Voices is everything the student body waits for. It's a night when poetry comes to life, and people use their voices in the name of a cause.

Watching people up onstage is always captivating. Last year, Mira was a senior who made a speech about life as someone who's disabled, and she spoke to the entire audience and let herself be vulnerable.

It was hard not to get emotional, especially sitting in the audience and really seeing her pain. Her voice was raw and strong, and seated in her wheelchair, she was practically glowing. 

Unspoken Voices has always been an event that's elicited tears, brought out hurt, vulnerability. But above all, a sense of power is given to everyone who was ever told they couldn't. I can't pretend it isn't outstanding.

But I try to avoid signing up like the plague.

Because if you're "ethnic" in any way, or openly LGBTQ+, the teachers especially tend to drop "subtle" hints about considering signing up for a spot at the event. But it can be anyone, really. Even if you don't actually face the discrimination you want to talk about. 

Because, no matter what, it needs to be talked about.

But it's still really fucking awkward, and I can't imagine reading a poem about injustice in front of the entire student body.

Gavin's eyebrows shoot up, and Will just purses his lips. He definitely fits the "non-straight" category they're looking for, not that anyone on this table besides Kayla and I, knows that. 

Andrea catches my eye with a grin, "And the teachers have really been on James' ass about it."

Ms. Ingram's my AP Lit teacher, and she hasn't taken one break from insisting, "I really think you should consider it," with that emphatic look in her eyes, as she nods excitedly at me, in which case, I nod back with an awkward grin, trying to figure out a way to get out of the situation.