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“And you do,” the sub said sarcastically.

“I think I would, since I’m from Jamaica.”

“You’re from Jamaica?! That’s so cool,” the sub said. He asked her to recommend other Jamaican musicians.

Joy spelled out names for the teacher. “E-t-a-n-a. There’s also Queen I-f-r-i-k-a.” The sub typed in the names but couldn’t find their songs.

Joy thought of another. “Type in S-i-zed-zed-l-a.”

Xavier turned around. “What’s a ‘zed’? Do you mean ‘zee’?”

“Yes, that’s what I mean. Same difference,” said Joy.

“Who the heck says ‘zed’?! So weird,” Xavier said. “Say ‘zee.’ That’s the correct pronunciation.”

Joy bristled. “I don’t need to change my speech to accommodate you. I say zed, you say zee. Get over it!”

The class quieted, watching Joy and Xavier like a tennis match. Sly mongrels want to suck up every last drop, Joy thought. The teacher observed silently.

“You’re American now,” Xavier said. “Speak English.”

“I am speaking English,” Joy retorted. “You’re so ignorant!”

Xavier adjusted his glasses. Pooja twisted around in her seat, her fingers clutching the back of her chair. “What’s your problem?! Why do you hate everybody?” Pooja shrieked.

I hate someone?! Joy thought. For God’s sake, I don’t even hate my father! On other days, Joy might have just brushed her off. But not today, she thought wearily. No sirree, not today. “I don’t hate anyone,” Joy snapped, reverting to her Jamaican accent. “I just have a problem with people like you!”

As Pooja gasped, it sounded like the entire class held its breath. People didn’t speak to Pooja that way. The teacher finally stepped in. “You guys, relax. What’s going on? This is supposed to be a room full of positive energy and peace.”

Joy, still fuming, raised her hand. “May I go outside?” she asked. As she left the room, she thought, If you want to talk to me, don’t insult my culture. Just talk to me. I know I’m outspoken, but I can be really sweet to you, if you don’t screw around with me.

About ten minutes later, the sub came outside to check on her. “What was going on in there?” he asked.

“Nothing, just a little blowup.”

“You look really upset,” the sub said.

“Yeah, that’s ’cause I am. I’m tired of having to change myself and my culture for these people.”

“You shouldn’t change. It’s great that you’re from a different place!”

Joy switched to her strong Jamaican accent, the one she took pains to disguise at school. When she was upset, she slipped back into it because it was easier to use her first dialect. “It might be cool to people who appreciate it, but I don’t like having to change my accent, or my letters, or anything about myself just ’cause others aren’t used to it.”

“You see that right there? I love your accent! You know how many people wish they were Jamaican? That they were different? Just ignore it. People must like seeing you upset. I mean, I did,” he said.

“I don’t normally let things get to me, but sometimes you need to put people in their place for them to understand, or to have an ounce of respect.” A tear rolled down Joy’s cheek. She hurriedly wiped it away.

“I don’t understand why they behave like that,” the sub said. “They should be trying to learn more about your culture.”

“That’s just how AP kids are. They believe they are elite. My mother always taught me that no matter how far you reach in life, no matter how intelligent you are, have respect for others and recognize that you’re equal to them. We never know, we might end up scrubbing their toilets,” Joy said.

“Well, what you have right there is so cool, and no one else has it. You just be you, and love who you are,” he said. “Do you want to go inside?”

“Thanks,” Joy said. “I think I’ll go inside and give them more to talk about.”

When Joy returned to the room, Pooja again turned and glared. Joy ignored her.

That afternoon, Joy’s biology teacher conducted an oral quiz. He kept picking on Joy specifically, asking her several questions before he’d asked other students one. Joy grew frustrated. “I don’t know,” she said.

As the teacher strode down the aisle in the middle of the classroom, he said,