All the people we normally stared at with contempt or jealousy or simple confusion about why they didn’t like us had to stare at us, for once. We had the silver. We had the gold. We had the precious, ineffable quotient they could never make themselves. We weren’t tragic or less than; we weren’t “those damn kids.” I saw it in their eyes that day. They couldn’t help but stare. They couldn’t stop us. We were so, so cool. And there wasn’t a thing they could do about it.
Rebecca Walker is the editor of Black Cool: One Thousand Streams of Blackness (Soft Skull Press).
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