The Truth According to Ember

by Danica Nava

Everyone likes to say it’s so easy for minorities to get jobs now. That we have some sort of advantage after years of being treated as second-class citizens. Bull fucking shit. If that were the case, then why were all the good jobs still full of white people?

crossed my legs at my ankles as Queen Clarisse Renaldi taught me when I was a kid. If dorky Mia Thermopolis could be a princess, then I could get hired here.

There was no one to help them if I ever broke down. I had to be everything for everyone, and as exhausting as that was, it also defined me. I wasn’t an artist. I wasn’t a great cook. But I was dependable, and I showed up for those I loved. That had to count for something in this life.

I still hadn’t forgiven Johnny Depp for doing it in The Lone Ranger.

Natalie was wasted as an executive assistant. She could run a company. I didn’t fear her. I wanted to be her. She was the most incredible person I had ever met.

That was the problem with hope. It created expectations, and when they weren’t met, you were left feeling crushed.

Poor pride was what my family and I flaunted instead of Ben Franklins. We didn’t need money or fancy shit. We didn’t need anything. We had each other. All our friends and family were poor, and we looked down on those who had money. Like they weren’t as tough as us. It was backward, but it was just how it was for us.

He was forbidden, and the spark that set my body aflame.

“Be careful, Danuwoa, I wouldn’t want to ruin you,” I said, laughing. He sat up and rested his arms on the bed. “It’s funny. I woke up this morning thinking, ‘I hope this girl destroys me.’ ”

I was not Ember; I was a goddess, and this bed was my altar and Danuwoa my most devoted worshipper.