John-John McIntyre Character Analysis

“Thank you,” she says, walking off. Then she stops stone still, like some bright idea has just come to her, turns around, and heads back my way. My skin starts to crawl before she even opens her mouth. “Maleeka, your skin is pretty. Like a blue-black sky after it’s rained and rained,” she says. Then she smiles and explains how that line comes from a favorite poem of hers. Next thing I know, she’s heading down the hall again like nothing much happened.

John-John McIntyre is the smallest seventh grader in the world. Even fifth graders can see over his head. Sometimes I have a hard time believing he and me are both thirteen. He’s my color, but since second grade he’s been teasing me about being too black. Last year, when I thought things couldn’t get no worse, he came up with this here song. Now, here this woman comes talking that black stuff. Stirring him up again.

It’s bad enough that I’m the darkest, worst-dressed thing in school. I’m also the tallest, skinniest thing you ever seen. And people like John-John remind me of it every chance they get. They don’t say nothing about the fact that I’m a math whiz, and can outdo ninth graders when it comes to figuring numbers. Or that I got a good memory and never forget one single, solitary thing I read. They only see what they see, and they don’t seem to like what they see much.

At school, everybody’s staring at me. Even John-John’s doing a double-take. When I walk into class, all eyes is on me. Char’s the only one that’s got something negative to say.

“So your momma finally broke down and bought you some clothes. About time,” she says, as soon as we get to Miss Saunders’s class.

“New clothes, huh?” he says, trying to be smart.

I stop walking and turn to him and ask real smart like, “Why you always picking on me?” I ain’t sure what’s come over me. I guess thinking about Akeelma makes me wonder why people treat others like they’re nothing.

“Chill, Maleeka,” John-John says, strutting down the hall alongside me. He gets quiet, and I hear his big sneakers squeaking every time they hit the floor.

He says something stupid-crazy. Says it was back in second grade when I first moved to the Heights. I walked into class that first day with my new pink polka-dotted dress on and black patent leather shoes. The teacher told me to sit in the desk next to his. I said I didn’t want to. I wanted to sit in the one up front, next to Caleb.

“That half-white punk,” John-John says, knowing full well Caleb ain’t mixed.

Now my mouth’s hanging open. “I didn’t even know Caleb back then,” I say. “I wanted to sit up front, ‘cause I couldn’t see the board,” I explain. […]

“No matter,” he says. “You given me plenty of reasons not to like you since then. Thinking you super-smart. Acting like you too good for me.”

At midnight, if you have eyes to see
There’s beauty and there’s majesty.

Char don’t understand what’s going on with me. She looks at me and calls me stupid, the way I’m smiling to myself.

“Thank you,” she says, walking off. Then she stops stone still, like some bright idea has just come to her, turns around, and heads back my way. My skin starts to crawl before she even opens her mouth. “Maleeka, your skin is pretty. Like a blue-black sky after it’s rained and rained,” she says. Then she smiles and explains how that line comes from a favorite poem of hers. Next thing I know, she’s heading down the hall again like nothing much happened.

John-John McIntyre is the smallest seventh grader in the world. Even fifth graders can see over his head. Sometimes I have a hard time believing he and me are both thirteen. He’s my color, but since second grade he’s been teasing me about being too black. Last year, when I thought things couldn’t get no worse, he came up with this here song. Now, here this woman comes talking that black stuff. Stirring him up again.

It’s bad enough that I’m the darkest, worst-dressed thing in school. I’m also the tallest, skinniest thing you ever seen. And people like John-John remind me of it every chance they get. They don’t say nothing about the fact that I’m a math whiz, and can outdo ninth graders when it comes to figuring numbers. Or that I got a good memory and never forget one single, solitary thing I read. They only see what they see, and they don’t seem to like what they see much.

At school, everybody’s staring at me. Even John-John’s doing a double-take. When I walk into class, all eyes is on me. Char’s the only one that’s got something negative to say.

“So your momma finally broke down and bought you some clothes. About time,” she says, as soon as we get to Miss Saunders’s class.

“New clothes, huh?” he says, trying to be smart.

I stop walking and turn to him and ask real smart like, “Why you always picking on me?” I ain’t sure what’s come over me. I guess thinking about Akeelma makes me wonder why people treat others like they’re nothing.

“Chill, Maleeka,” John-John says, strutting down the hall alongside me. He gets quiet, and I hear his big sneakers squeaking every time they hit the floor.

He says something stupid-crazy. Says it was back in second grade when I first moved to the Heights. I walked into class that first day with my new pink polka-dotted dress on and black patent leather shoes. The teacher told me to sit in the desk next to his. I said I didn’t want to. I wanted to sit in the one up front, next to Caleb.

“That half-white punk,” John-John says, knowing full well Caleb ain’t mixed.

Now my mouth’s hanging open. “I didn’t even know Caleb back then,” I say. “I wanted to sit up front, ‘cause I couldn’t see the board,” I explain. […]

“No matter,” he says. “You given me plenty of reasons not to like you since then. Thinking you super-smart. Acting like you too good for me.”

At midnight, if you have eyes to see
There’s beauty and there’s majesty.

Char don’t understand what’s going on with me. She looks at me and calls me stupid, the way I’m smiling to myself.