I was the definition of untouchable in high school: a black girl in a white school, a working-class girl with wealthy classmates, and a Christian girl in an amoral environment. I was a pair of Pumas in a world of docksiders. Rarely asked out on dates or invited to parties.
Lunch hour was an agonizing dance of popularity, disdain, or acceptance. Thank God for the girlfriends who surrounded me, little black-girl outcasts, whose common aim was to make good on the opportunities afforded them, excel, and keep our virtue. The last part wasn’t a problem because, at my school, only the most daring or rebellious wanted to date a black girl.