Required Reading for the Disenfranchised Freshman | Lee, Kristen R.

Lange Beschreibung
A striking debut novel about racism on elite college campuses. Fans of Dear White People will embrace this activist-centered contemporary novel about a college freshman grappling with the challenges of attending an elite university with a disturbing racist history, which may not be as distant as it seems.

Savannah Howard sacrificed her high school social life to make sure she got into a top college. Her sights were set on an HBCU, but when she is accepted to the ivy-covered walls of Wooddale University on a full ride, how can she say no?

Wooddale is far from the perfectly manicured community it sells on its brochures, though. Savannah has barely unpacked before she comes face to face with microagressions stemming from racism and elitism. Then Clive Wilmington's statue is vandalized with blackface. The prime suspect? Lucas Cunningham, Wooddale's most popular student and son of a local prominent family. Soon Savannah is unearthing secrets of Wooddale's racist history. But what's the price for standing up for what is right? And will telling the truth about Wooddale's past cost Savannah her own future?

A stunning, challenging, and timely debut about racism and privilege on college campuses.

Rezensierung
'Highly recommended. This is a fast-paced, plot-driven novel that tackles topics of racism, elitism, and intersections of those and other concerns of college freshman.' SLJ, starred review

'A moving and authentic exploration of one young woman s moral compass. Kirkus Reviews

'With a world of sass and more than a hint of Black girl magic, Lee gives readers a quintessential coming-of-age novel that leaves us pining for more of Sav annah s heroism. Booklist

'Lee s thoughtful debut, a timely, quickly paced look at the trauma Black students often face in white institutions, brings a refreshingly vulnerable honesty to this narrative centering one Black collegiate transition. Publishers Weekly

'A voice that will stick  with you long after you read the last word.' -Nic Stone, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Dear Martin

Scathing, honest, and impassioned. - Adib Khorram, Award-winning author of Darius the Great Is Not Okay
 
Raw, authentic, honest. This thought-provoking debut is equal parts call-out and call to action. J. Elle, New York Times bestselling author of Wings of Ebony


Buchausschnitt

one

The pizza drivers don t deliver here after seven.

Five in the wintertime, when the sun sets earlier. When they do deliver, they don t come beyond the iron gates of my building. We have to walk down to them. They park damn near around the corner, but they still expect a tip.

I have a tip for them: stop being afraid of Black folk.

I search for my low-­top Air Force Ones that I ve been wearing since ninth grade. Mama taped up the bottom with duct tape to keep the soles from falling apart. She tells me all the time to throw them away, that no matter how poor we are, we don t have to look it, but I can t toss them. These same shoes took me everywhere, and in a few days they ll be coming with me to college. A college I ve worked my whole life to get into but, truth be told, I don t want to go to. Not like Mama would give me a say anyway.

Mama, I m finna go get a pizza. I stand behind the bedroom door that hangs off the hinges. She takes her sweet time inviting me in. I know better than to enter her room without permission.

Bring me a pepperoni with extra cheese, she says.

You got extra-­cheese money? I want to say, but I don t have time for a lecture. I lean against the wall. You know they charge more for the extra cheese, Mama?

I know that, Savannah. Come get twenty dollars out my pocketbook.

The door hugs my body as I rest it on the wall. Mama sits on the edge of her bed, and the cutoff shirt she wears shows the aging in her arms. Soft pink rollers that give her hair a bump peek out from underneath her bonnet. Her swollen feet rest in one of them massage buckets boosted from Walmart by my cousin Shaun. Mama s feet ain t no good anymore. Years of standing up on concrete at a warehouse for twelve hours did a number on her body. When she got that good job down at the tax agency, she ran into the house and threw out every pair of steel-­toe boots she ever owned. But by then the damage to her feet was already done.

Don t be out too late. It ain t safe. She gives the same warning each time I step outside. Even if I m only going toward the back of the apartments to throw out the trash.

Mama, it s right up the street. I pause. Besides, you can t keep an eye on me after I m at college.

It feels funny saying that. Me? College? I m only seventeen ­well, seventeen and a half. One minute I was doing accelerated-­learning courses, then dual-­enrollment classes, and then the guidance counselor talking about I m ready for college, if I want to go. I worked like a senior my sophomore and junior years to apply to the best colleges ­like Wooddale. Getting into Wooddale meant I made it. That Mama working them long hours wasn t in vain. While my homegirls went to parties, I was prepping for the SAT night and day. It worked because I got a 1500 and accepted to every college I applied to, including the HBU down the street. But Mama said I m not going to that one because it won t make me successful. Even though people who graduate from HBUs do big things too.

She said I need that fancy Ivy League degree.

And I mean, she right. Life would be so good then. If I got a good enough job with that Wooddale degree, we could even move. Mama wouldn t be worried about crime or nothing. Bet wherever we move then, the pizza people would deliver all the way to the doorstep.

Mama points her half-­polished finger at me. You heard what I said. I don t want you walking them streets this late at night.

I reach into her purse and pull out an Andrew Jackson. I crumple it up and put it in my bra. Mama taught me to never stick money in