The Only Black Girl In The Room When…. It’s College Admissions Time
This series of blogposts are inspired by my forthcoming novel: The Only Black Girl In The Room (Release Date: May 21st, 2024), and my life growing up as frequently the only Black girl in the room. I hope that these posts can offer insight, understanding, and a little bit of humor to the small and big moments of being the only. Thank you for engaging with me and my work.
Welcome to the 2010s. I’m wrapping up high school, convinced that the height of fashion is a Delia’s graphic tee and denim miniskirt. Calculus has made me cry multiple times, both in and out of the school building. I have written the holy grail of college admissions essays, linking my love for Christina Aguilera and the song “Beautiful” to my desire to be a psychologist. Me and my clinical levels of anxiety have submitted our early admissions essay, hoping for the best but (always) expecting the worst. But “don’t worry,” people said. “You’ll get in because you’re Black.” People, everyone from your fellow students or even a teacher or two. It doesn’t matter that I had good grades, test scores, and extracurriculars. Or that, once again, my admissions essay was a perfect encapsulation of my 2000s nostalgia and career goals. To so many people who knew me, I was just a statistic when it came to the important things. Getting in did ease that sting though.
But what happens once you get in? People get weird. Your family starts proudly school-dropping in random conversations. Even some of your teachers might get in on the action. Fellow students start saying things like, “You must be, like, really smart,” a rhetorical question that is impossible to answer. Do I coyly act humble, like “ohmigosh no! just lucky!” or do I lean into a little bit of cockiness like, “yeah, I actually am, thank you.” I was seventeen in my skull-jewelry fashion stage, how was I supposed to know how to have a normal reaction? But of course, there’s always the golden rule. No, not “treat others the way you want to be treated.” The golden rule of weird social interactions: do an awkward laugh, and try to Irish exit. Is this foolproof? Eh. Is this good advice? Who said I’m qualified to give advice?
At the time, it did sometimes hurt when people assumed I couldn’t get into college based on merit, just like my other classmates. Or, when one of the other Black students didn’t get into the same school and it was assumed I was the one who took her spot. But now, (insert garbled interpretation of how much time has passed here), I can laugh about some of the more awkward moments (being cornered by someone I barely knew by the school busses who referred to me as, “Miss (College I Got Into)”. I can also appreciate that now, as a semi-functional adult, I’m a bit more confident and a lot better equipped for the awkward moments. But don’t think I won’t still Irish exit out of a conversation. Life’s too short, and I could be home reading.