You Should See Me in a Crown

by Leah Johnson

When you already feel like everything about you makes you stand out, it just makes more sense to find as many ways to blend in as you can.

But the hardest ones to hear are the ones she says with the most authority: Girls will run for queen, and boys will run for king—there’s definitely no accounting for people who might not identify as either. And the hardest for me to ignore, same-sex couples aren’t allowed to attend together. They can dance with each other once they get there, maybe, if no chaperones care enough to stop them, but they can’t officially go as dates.

“Actually, Rebecca, before you start concerning yourself with skewed scoring, you should probably know that the biggest beneficiaries of affirmative action are white women.”

But terrible people aren’t always the ones doing something wrong. Good people mess up too, but that doesn’t mean we should let it slide.”

Silence and shame aren’t the same thing—not by a longshot. But sometimes silence is simpler.

I’ve never felt quite like this though. Like I don’t know if I’m running away from something or to it. All I know is that I’m tired, so incredibly tired, of having to run at all.

I never needed this race or a hashtag or the king to be a queen. I was born royalty. All I had to do was pick up my crown.

You could make history if you just follow our rules. You could be a real credit to your people if you just straighten up and fly right. You could actually be worth something if you would shut up and take what we give you. And I know then what I’ve always known: Campbell is never going to make a space for me to fit. I’m going to have to demand it.

I try to channel the confidence of a mediocre white man in a boardroom: untouchable.

“My Lizzie, my little star. I never want to tell you not to burn as fast and as bright as you can.”