You're Not Supposed to Die Tonight

by Kalynn Bayron

The light outside my door is strong and steady. I stuck a hundred-watt bulb in the socket, and now it shines like a miniature sun and hums so loud, I low-key feel like it might explode at any moment.

That teen slang though

I turn my Black ass right around and book it back to my cabin, where I close and lock the door.

This job isn’t getting to me, but walking into the unlocked community showers, which are supposed to be locked, while my flashlight is acting up? No, ma’am. Absolutely not.

“She don’t like meat,” Porter says. “Strictly strawberries, like my man Harry Styles said.” Javier’s brows push together. Me and Porter are both part of the alphabet mafia, so we get it, but poor Javier is clueless.

He said I was responsible, self-sufficient, and trustworthy. That’s mostly true. I’m all those things, but mostly because I don’t have any other choices. Being the child of an irresponsible parent who doesn’t really care what you’re doing as long as it doesn’t mess up her plans will do that to you.

“Be careful,” she says. “You know what happens to Black folks in slasher movies.” “I’m the final girl,” I say. “Guaranteed to survive the night.”

I know full well that the police aren’t here to protect and serve; they’re here to enforce compliance with whatever set of rules they’re following today.