Maybe I Will Read Free Page A

you going for Peter Pan?” she asked.
    â€œDefinitely,” I replied. We walked toward the auditorium together. “How about you? Which part do you want?” I held the door for her to walk in ahead of me.
    â€œWhat part do I want or what part do I think I can get?” asked Shanika.
    â€œWhat part do you want?” I asked again, this time with more emphasis on the want.
    â€œPeter Pan, of course,” she replied.
    I laughed. “Peter Pan. Of course!”
    Shanika tilted her head back and narrowed her eyes at me. “Are you dissin’ me?”
    I sobered quickly. “No way,” I said. “The play’s called
Peter Pan
; everybody who’s anybody wants to be Peter Pan.” To be honest, though, I’d never really pictured a black Peter Pan. In my mind, Peter could be a boy or Peter could be a girl dressed up like a boy, but who ever heard of a black Peter Pan?
    We walked down the aisle together in silence. I found a seat toward the front of the auditorium and Shanika sat down next to me.
    â€œI’d make a great Peter Pan,” said Shanika. She nudged me with her elbow. “You should be worried.”
    I didn’t know what to say. Voices bounced off the ceiling and the walls all around us, but I couldn’t find mine.
    â€œWhat?” Shanika shook her head. I couldn’t tell if she was disgusted with me or amused by my embarrassment. “You don’t think Peter Pan can be black?”
    â€œWell, actually, I . . . I . . . ” I just looked at Shanika.
    â€œShoot! And you think you can act?” Shanika was smiling now.
    I threw my hands up and lowered my head. “I guess I’ve just never seen a black Peter Pan, and I never really thought about it. I’m sorry.”
    â€œYou got nothing to be sorry about,” Shanika said. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m sorry your parents never read you
Amazing Grace
. That was my favorite book growing up.”
    â€œ
Amazing Grace
?” I asked. “What’s that about?”
    â€œNot what—who,” said Shanika. “It’s about Grace, a little girl who loves stories.” She leaned in toward me and drew out the word loves in a way that made me wonder if I ever loved stories as much as she did. “Grace loved stories so much that she acted every one of them out, and I acted them all out with her. Joan of Arc, Aladdin, Hiawatha, Mowgli… didn’t matter what the story was, me and Grace, we always gave ourselves the most exciting parts.”
    Shanika leaned back in her seat. “Anyway, in the end, Grace got to be Peter Pan in the school play even though she was black and even though she was a girl.”
    â€œSounds like a pretty good book,” I said. I wished that auditions would hurry up and start already.
    â€œSo what was your favorite book when you were a kid?” Shanika asked.
    My mind raced.
Why is she asking me this? Is she really going to try out for Peter Pan? Should I be worried?
    â€œYour mama and daddy did read to you, didn’t they?” Shanika made it sound as if I must have had the most pathetic childhood ever.
    â€œMy parents read to me.” My words had a defensive edge to them. I took a deep breath and remembered sitting on my dad’s lap reading book after book. “My favorite was
Harold and the Purple Crayon
. Only my dad always read it
Sandy and the Purple Crayon
. He read me the story a hundred times before I realized that my name started with an ‘S’ and there wasn’t a single ‘s’ in ‘Harold.’”
    â€œI remember Harold.” Shanika laughed. “That crazy bald kid who drew his own adventure.” She stood up and stretched. Then she looked down at me just long enough to make me uncomfortable. “I like Harold,” she said finally. “He had almost as much imagination as Grace.” And with that she walked away.
    I watched Shanika make her