I looked at the concrete ground with a blank face and soft eyes, trying not to make eye contact with any of the people in the angry crowd of white parents and teens that surrounded the High School steps. I kept my eyes trained on my nice school shoes. My crisp white shirt was tucked into my newly pressed slacks. My tattered book bag was slung securely around my broad shoulders. 

    A sharp rock was thrown at me and with that unleashed a volley of small pebbles that came and pelted me all over. I closed my eyes to keep control of my temper, and to remember what my mama told me before I was dragged away to get driven to school. "Don't fight back," she had said while straightening my collar. "James, it don't matter what they do. They don't like change, and you scare them. You are stronger than them. Just ignore it, and whatever you do... Don't make eye contact." That's when she hugged me  and kissed my cheek. The Guards took that as her farewell to me, so they 'escorted' (more like dragged) me into the blacked out car.

    My hand clenched around my cello case handle. I was accepted into the integration program, set-up by the government, for the most prestigious preforming arts school in the south. Yet, it was an all white school; hence the reason for integration. I was an amazing cellist, and an excellent student, according to the school board; they just couldn't get over the fact that I wasn't like them. Then the government swooped in and made them move me into the school.

    "Sir," my mind was snapped out of my thoughts and I rose my eyes to the guard in front of me. "by the power of the state of Alabama, I cannot allow you to take this negro boy into the school." In front of the U.S. Marshal was the principal of the school. He shot a distasteful glare my way when he said the color of my skin.

    "I understand that," The U.S. Marshal rolled his shoulders back and stood up straighter, just to make himself look bigger. "but by the power of the Federal government and The President of these UNITED states, you WILL let us escort this boy to his classes." he enunciated certain words to get his point and the power of the words across to this man. I could clearly see the principal's look of utter disbelief of what he said on his face. 

    As the little huddle of people, with me claustrophobic and cramped in the middle, pushed past the principal a new wave of shouts rang over the crowd as we neared the oak doors of the school. I kept my face blank, and my eyes down. The doors opened achingly slow and we seemed to take forever to get inside the safety of them. The doors started to close behind us and I kept my back to the crowd. The huddle dispersed when we entered the main hall way. From here I should be escorted by a single guard to all my classes. I smirked as I remembered the look on the principal's face.

    But, that's when I heard it. Muffled screams, shouts, and threats. I turned to look at the oak doors.

    "Traitor!"

    "Nigger* lover!"

    The heavy doors burst open, just inches from my face, and a white blur jumped into the small area the doors had opened. a pale skinned girl with long blonde hair was sprawled face first into the tile floor. Another blur flew into the opening, hit the wall parallel to the door,  and the oak doors were slammed shut. I stared down at the girl who had thrown herself in, sheet music had started to flutter down around her, her petite arms wrapped around her head and neck. her white dress was crumpled around her knees, and one of her white Maryjane's hung limply around her ankle.

    My gentle giant nature took over and I decided to help this poor girl out. I placed my cello case don next to me and squatted next to the girl and tried to get her arm off her head, but she just gripped tighter onto her head not wanting to me.

    "Okay, you don't want help I ain't gonna give it to you." I raised my arms up in a surrender motion. I was surprised that no teachers had come into the hall to pull this stunning girl away from "filth" as they like to call me.

    As she heard my voice, the girl started to slowly uncurl her arms from around her head. She raised her head to look at me, her green eyes looked met my deep brown ones. She then realized that I had tried to help her up and her eyes widened as she noticed that she had been rude to me. "oh... sorry... um... thank you..." I outstretched my hand to her and she took it. I slowly lifted the both of us off of the floor and onto her feet.

    "You okay?" I asked gesturing to her knee, which was skinned pretty badly.

    "W-What? Oh, I'm fine." She then observed the mess around us."Oh my! My piano music!" She started to bend over and collect the fallen pieces of paper that littered the floor.

    "Here, let me help." I started to pick up the other pieces of paper and the book bag off the floor .

    "You don't have to..." She noted that I kept on picking her possessions up "Oh...Okay. Thank you." she looked as if she wanted to say something else, but she just opened and closed her mouth. "So... That mob out there is crazy." She huffed as she gathered the last of the sheet music, and I handed her the few sheets I collected. we were now face to face.

     I didn't know how to respond so I didn't. I felt kind of bad, but this girl just kept on talking. "You wanna get a profession in music don't you?" She pointed behind me to my cello case. I kept my mouth closed, handed this girl her book bag, and prepared for the acidic comment to come from her mouth. "Why are they making a big deal about this then? You want what everyone else wants." she gracefully re-attached her shoe to her foot and grew a few inches taller. "It doesn't matter what skin color you are. We're all human." the guard assigned to escort me moved closer to us and this girl acknowledged the fact that I was about to have to leave. "Well, I think it is time for me to go. Than you again for helping me...' she led on and I jolted knowing that we had never had a proper greeting.

     "James. James Peters"

    "...James Peters, thank you again for helping me. My name is Alice. Alice Sinclair." She took my hand from my side and shook it. My chocolate brown hand. She just touched it and didn't wince or say anything nasty.

    She turned and headed in the opposite direction I had to go. I didn't move a muscle, in fear of waking up from this obvious dream, but I just stared at this particular girl waiting for her to do something else that would amaze me. and she did do just that. Not even half way down the hall she looked over her shoulder and gave me a bright white smile, a real genuine smile; not a pitiful one that most people had given me this morning. Maybe this whole integration thing wouldn't be so bad.

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*Sorry for the language. It was 1961, they said that a lot back then.

A/N: I don't know if I should continue this story anymore. I wrote this for a history project and received full marks and an award nomination for it. Should I continue it?