So, apparently a lot of African American women have fake hair. They are called weaves, because they, get this, weave into your hair. It’s not that I thought all hair was real—it’s that I never thought about how much hair was actually fake. I don’t know how I am just discovering this, but I blame it on growing up in a southern town of less than 300 people (even though I moved away from that town when I was ten, so I guess I have no argument).

I stumbled upon this knowledge because our alternative family gained another member today, and her name is Khianna. She is almost my height with broad shoulders and purple dreadlocks that stretch all the way down her back. I don’t know whether it’s the rope-like dreads, her square jaws, or the way her eyes narrow when she’s staring at you, but she kind of reminds me of the Predator and it kind of freaks me out. She actually has an identical twin, who has red dreadlocks of the same length, and seeing the two of them together makes me want to carry a bottle of Holy Water on me in case one them pounces and opens her jaws and reveals her razor sharp teeth (I’m not Catholic, but I figure that carrying Holy Water on you is never a bad idea).

Today in class, I mentioned that I was 29 years old, to which Khianna responded, “Yo, you’re a year older than my mom!” My eyebrows raised. Now, I’m terrible at math, but I do know that if her mom is 28 and Khianna is 13, and pregnancy lasts 9 months, then…well, I’m not judging, but that’s a heck of an age to get pregnant with twins…

When I asked her why she had been placed in my classroom, she answered honestly: she was failing almost every subject, she had problems with skipping school, and last week, she and her sister ganged up on a small girl from their bus and beat her to a pulp (the poor girl should have been carrying some Holy Water on her). As Khianna continued talking though, arriving in our classroom seems to have been the wake-up call that she needed. We hear that a lot, so time will tell.

For now, here’s to my Fab Five and all the alternative antics that they will inevitably put me through. Cheers.

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