PARIS
I’m magical.
DAVID
What kind of magic?
Paris says in a nonchalant way.
PARIS
Black girl magic.
DAVID
I’m sorry I didn’t quite hear you.
Paris repeats loudly but still not convincing.
PARIS
BLACK GIRL MAGIC!
DAVID
That’s my baby.
Paris’ mom walks in the kitchen, smiling and listening to the whole thing.
DAVID
Alright baby. Eat up, so you can head on to school.
Paris quickly eats her breakfast, kisses her dad goodbye and heads into the car with her mom.
INT/EXT. INSIDE OF MOTHER’S CAR. MORNING
The sun is beaming perfectly off of the brownstones on Paris’ block. On their block you see nothing but Black
mommas and dads taking their kids to school. Once Joan gets en route to Paris’ school, more white families
appear. The drive to school seemed like it took a lifetime.
PARIS
Momma, are you sure I can’t go to work with you?
JOAN
No baby. You have to do this yourself.
PARIS
Fine. Momma?
JOAN
Yes?
PARIS: (CONT’D)
Were you ever bullied?
JOAN
Of course.
PARIS
By kids who looked like you?
JOAN
Well, when this was our Brooklyn, I didn’t have to worry about that, but I still got called many names. The trick is
to not let any of those names or comments define who you are.
Joan kisses Paris’ cheek.
JOAN: (CONT’D)
Just hang on. I love you baby.
PARIS
I love you too Momma.
Joan and Paris pull up to the school. Paris steps out of the car and watches her mother pull off. When Paris walks
into the school she sees her best friend LAUREN, 13, wide eyed, brown skinned and full of joy.
34
african Voices