Note to self: Look up Countee Cullen and Madam C. J. Walker.
“Sadie, we should mingle. We need to get more sign-ups,” Toya says. “Nala, are you coming with us to Harlem Shake? We’re all going out later to celebrate Imani. Wait, you’re her cousin, right?”
Of course I’m going, and you know that we are related. Imani is my cousin-sister-friend. Why wouldn’t I be there?
I nod.
“Perfect,” she says.
The lights flicker, giving everyone a sign that the show is about to start. So much for them signing up more people. Sadie sits next to me, and the first two rows fill up with Inspire Harlem teens. I notice that just about everyone sitting in this section is wearing a graphic tee that has some kind of statement on it or the face of someone important. I recognize two of the faces. Malcolm X and Maya Angelou. The rest, I have no idea.
Maybe one of them is Countee Cullen.
Imani walks over to us and sits next to me, in the middle of her birthday crew. The lights dim even more, and once it is completely blacked out, there is cheering and clapping. The stage lights are too dark at first, so I can’t really see the person talking. “Good evening, everyone. We’re here tonight to remember Harlem, to honor Harlem, to critique Harlem, to love Harlem . . . we’re here tonight to Inspire Harlem.”
There are shouts and whistles and so much clapping.
Then, finally, the lights rise.
And I see him.
“My name is Tye Brown, and I will be your host for the evening.” While everyone is still clapping, he says, “Tonight’s going to be a special night,” and then I swear he looks at me and says, “Sit back and enjoy.” I almost yell out I will! Oh, I will! but I keep it together and settle into my seat.
I whisper to Imani, “Who is he? I’ve never seen him before.”
“Tye. He’s new,” she says.
And I turn to Sadie and whisper, “I mean, if I had known guys like that were a part of this, maybe I would have joined too.”
Sadie laughs.
“Shh!” Imani scolds us.
I sit back, give my full attention to Tye. He explains what Inspire Harlem is and talks us through how the night will go. Then, his voice gets serious and he says, “Singer and activist Nina Simone said, ‘It’s an artist’s duty to reflect the times in which we live.’ This isn’t your typical talent show. Each act has thought about the message in their art, the mission behind their performance.”
A few people clap when he says this.
“This is a supportive, brave space—please only show love for everyone who has the courage to come to the stage,” Tye says. And then, he smiles the most gorgeous smile I have ever seen and says, “Let’s begin.”
I don’t believe in love at first sight. I don’t even know if I believe that there’s such a thing as a soul mate or one true love. But right now, in this moment, I am ready to profess my love for Tye Brown.
Okay, fine, I don’t really love him. I don’t know him (yet), but there are some things I know about him in just the first thirty minutes of the talent show, and those things, I love.
3 THINGS I ALREADY LOVE ABOUT TYE BROWN
1.I love his dark skin. The way his white shirt contrasts against his deep brown complexion. I love his style. How his shirt has the letters B L A C K across his chest, making him a living poem.
2.I love the way his deep voice bellows out, filling up the space, how his voice is electric shock waves when he needs to amp up the crowd, how it is a warm hug when he welcomes each person to the stage.
3.I love that when the fourth person gets choked up with tears because he can’t remember the lyrics to his rap, Tye comes from backstage and stands next to him, putting his hand on his shoulder. I love how they just stand there for a whole minute and the audience is silent, how Tye asks, “Do you want to start over?” I love how Tye stands there while the boy performs, never leaving his side, bobbing his head and moving to the beat.
Yeah, those are the things I love about Tye. It was definitely worth coming out in the rain tonight.
The next person up is a girl named Gabby. Her hair is pulled back in a neat ponytail, and I can’t tell if the glasses she is wearing are for necessity or fashion. She sings a song she wrote just for this event, and that alone should make her the winner. I feel sorry for the people coming after her.
The next performance is a group of steppers. They have the crowed hyped. By the time they are done, I think maybe they might beat Gabby. But if they do, it’ll be close. I completely tune out during the next act. A girl is singing some type of Heal-the-World song, and I am bored and barely listening to her. It’s not that she can’t sing—the song is just corny. To me anyway. All I am thinking about is when will Tye be coming back to the stage. But once the girl stops singing, the lights come up for a short intermission.
Most people rush to the bathrooms. I walk over to the snack table—I want to get something to drink and also, I see that Tye is standing over there. I am trying to think of something to say to him, but I can’t even get my mouth to open. Up close he is even more handsome and now I can smell his cologne. I just want to run away and look at him from across the room.
“Enjoying the show?” Tye asks. He is talking to me. To me.
“Um, yes, I—I’m really, yes, I’m enjoying it.” Get it together, Nala Robertson. Come on.
“Are you new to Inspire Harlem?”
“Oh, no. I’m not a part of it. Hi, I’m Nala. Imani is my cousin. She invited me.”
“Oh, Imani? That’s my girl. I’m Tye.” He shakes my hand, which I think is kind of formal, but holding his hand feels like holding silk and I want to hold on to him and never let him go. Tye lets go and fills his water bottle. He takes a long drink.
Say something, Nala. Say something. “Inspire Harlem is a great program. Imani really likes being in it.”
“Yeah. I love it so far. I’m excited about what we’ve planned for this summer. Did Imani tell you about it?”
“No,” I say. But of course she did. I just want to keep talking to him.
“All summer long we’ll be having awareness events—I’m the team leader for our community block party. You should come,” Tye says. I have never heard someone sound so excited about a community service project. Tye steps away from the table because we’re holding the line up. I realize I don’t even have anything in my hand, no water or plate of veggies and dip to play it off like I didn’t just come over here to talk with him. “What about you? What are you up to this summer?” he asks.
“Oh, I’m, um, I’m . . . I volunteer for an organization that offers activities for elderly people in the neighborhood. We do, um, like arts and crafts stuff with them—nothing super important or at the magnitude of Inspire Harlem,” I say. He doesn’t need to know that really, I am just talking about the one time last month when I spent the day at Grandma’s helping her put a puzzle together.
“That’s great that you’re doing that,” Tye says.
“Yeah, some of them don’t have family that come visit and just need to get out of their apartments and do something. We do all kinds of activities with them.”
“Like what?”
“Um, well, like I mentioned, arts and crafts . . . um, knitting. We also have story time, not like kindergarten story time, but I read novels to them and sometimes we just play games and build puzzles.”