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Indigo Sky in Port-au-Prince


With Mother gone to bed, I can sneak out the window, into Ben's car, crushing popcorn boxes, cigarette butts and torn ticket stubs. My weekend smile squiggles, slinks onto my face as the Chevy blazes down the road, Bob Marley on the eight-track. Ah, the outlaw joy of escape! I'm crossing over the border of Mother's realm of power. When the tires crunch on the coquina driveway of Cafe Creole, dust dances in a lazy tornado, a flannel blanket around the car.


Dirty neon lights dangle from the ceiling beams, flickering on and off without rhythm, their twisty green wires crooked like chicken bones strung together on a string. I hear the music in my chest, vibrating, waiting, a wave that flattens my thoughts, washes them away with a mindless, insistent staccato. I become part of its pulse as it pulls me out of myself.


The moon is blue in the indigo sky. And there's this one star -- fiery, blazing. A tiny slice of yellow, a twisted lemon peel, lies at the bottom of the moon. Mother wouldn't let me be Ben's star. "No, you're not going to that night club. For chrissake, you're only fourteen. And I don't like that Ben kid." I rest my cheek on the starched whiteness of Ben's shirt.


On the dance floor, unhooked pelvises work so butts pivot around their axes. There are cocktail stirrers everywhere, like abandoned games of pick-up-sticks. Ben is mad because some guy gets me a Prestige beer at the bar. I hear the purr of his engine cranking. Clunk. Ben shifts into gear. I listen as the night gobbles up the humming of his motor. As he disappears. Leaving me in the parking lot of the club, things biting my legs, crawling all over me.


An engine idles beside me. Headlights glare past me now, staring into the path of trodden grass Ben has paved. "Get in," Mother says. She slowly turns the Isuzu Trooper around, pushes play, and doesn't say another word. Bob Marley. The tires spin on the dry gravel. I adjust the rear view mirror: a lazy tornado spins in the distance.

Publishers Weekly Select Title for Young Readers ─ A Daily Dose of Inspiration for Badass Black Girls

Explore the many facets of your identity through hundreds of big and small questions. MJ Fievre tackles topics such as family and friends, school and careers, body image, and stereotypes in this journal designed for teenage girls. By reflecting on these topics, readers confront the issues that can hold them back from living their lives.

Embrace authenticity and celebrate who you are. Finding the courage to live as you are is not easy, so here’s a journal designed to help readers nurture their creativity, self-motivation, and positive self-awareness. This journal celebrates girl power and honors the strength and spirit of black girls.

Change the way you view the world. This journal provides words of encouragement that seek not just to inspire, but to ignite discussion and debate about the world. Girls, especially, are growing up in a world that tries to tell them how to look and act. MJ Fievre encourages readers to fight the flow and determine for themselves who they want to be.

  • Build and boost your self-esteem with powerful affirmations.

  • Learn more about yourself through intensive and insightful journaling.

  • Resist the mold that outside opinions have put into place, and become comfortable and confident in embracing your authentic self.


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