The Freedom Writers Diary - Erin Gruwell [5]
I can’t deny the fact that this class does seem like a bad rerun of Cops, though, and she has the records to prove it. She’ll probably sit us in alphabetical order to try to stop any fights. Right now she’s probably deciding who she’s going to transfer out. To her, I’m sure we’re the “below average” kids no one told her about when she was getting her credentials. I have to admit, though, some of these fools need an attitude adjustment.
Most of these niggas come strapped and ready to bust a cap. It’s not like they can’t get away with it, with their big-ass pants; they could fit me and six of my friends. They could hide a bazooka and no one would notice.
I don’t even think everyone in this class is supposed to be in here, because there’s a white boy in the corner looking down at his schedule, hoping that he’s in the wrong room. For his entire life he’s always been part of the majority, but as soon as he stepped into this room, he became the minority. Being white in this class is not going to give him the same status that he gets in society. In here, he gets stared down by most of us, and the other people just think that’s he’s either stupid or must have ditched the day he was supposed to take the assessment test.
Then, there are the other ones, like me, who are in the middle. Not a bad-ass, but definitely not wearing a pocket protector. I wonder how I ended up in this class. I’m not a disciplinary transfer, and even though English is not my first language, I know I don’t belong here.
I can already see it: We’re going to be stuck with some fat-ass, second-grade English book that will put us to sleep before we can even flip a page. With this class, though, she’s probably going to have a fatter stack of referrals. I wonder how long she’s going to put up with these punks; even I want to get out of this classroom. I’m sure one of these days she’s going to go to principal and ask for her leave, but then again, what else is new?
“These kids are going to make this lady quit the first week,” my friends were saying. Someone else said, “She’ll only last a day.”
I give her a month.
Diary 2
Dear Diary,
What the hell am I doing in here? I’m the only white person in this English class! I’m sitting in the corner of this classroom (if that’s what you want to call this chaos), looking at my schedule and thinking, “Is this really where I’m supposed to be?” Okay, I know in high school I’m supposed to meet all kinds of different people, but this isn’t exactly what I had in mind. Just my luck, I’m stuck in a classroom full of troubled kids who are bused in from bad neighborhoods. I feel really uncomfortable in here with all these rejects. There aren’t even enough seats. My teacher, Ms. Gruwell, is young and determined, but this class is out of control and I bet she won’t last very long.
This school is just asking for trouble when they put all these kids in the same class. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.
I had lunch before class in the high school quad and noticed that, like everywhere else, it was really separated by race. Each race has its own section and nobody mixes. Everyone, including me, eats lunch with their own kind, and that’s that. There is a section known as “Beverly Hills” or “Disneyland” where all of the rich white kids hang out. Then there’s “China Town” where the Asians hang. The Hispanic section is referred to as either “Tijuana Town” or “Run to the Border.” The Black section is known as “Da Ghetto.” Then there’s the freak show in the middle of the quad that’s reserved for the druggies, also called “Tweakers,” and the kids who are into the Goth scene. From what’s going on around me, it’s obvious that the divisions in the quad carry into the classroom.
All my friends are across the hall in the Distinguished Scholars class. It’s almost all