“No, Cleo is one of his best friends. Cleo’s been to our house to spend the night several times,” my mom retorted. “Cleo Jr. used to come to the house even before his father was killed.”
I returned to sitting upright.
“You all are racist!”
This word caught me off guard. I didn’t know what it meant and it wasn’t on my spelling list. I recognized that it wasn’t meant to be something good, because JJ’s grandfather’s eyes were flaming red when he said it. He tried to burn a hole in me with them as his lips quivered with emotion. I looked away quickly into my dad’s eyes for safety.
“No, that’s why our kids attend an integrated school. So they won’t be racist,” my Pop tried to explain calmly. I was so glad he knew what the word meant.
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