The Life of a White Girl

In the year 1940, when all of the United States is segregated, Lila Mae has it fine. Because she is a white girl. Why would she be upset about Jim Crow laws when all they do is benefit her? She gets to laugh in the face of the darker skinned people that live in the same city as she and get away with it! Is it all as glorious as it seems?

Chapter 1

Chapter One

DISCLAIMER: This story does not belong to anybody else. It is not the property of anyone but me, Makenzie Soleil Hampton, and it is not owned by any business, website, individual, or group other than I. Quibblo does not own any material or rights. All rights reserved to Makenzie Soleil Hampton.

"Lila Mae! Come quick!" Shouts my sister, Isabella, from her room. "Look out your window; there's some colored kids trying to figure out how to ride Ms. Willa's bikes!"

I run to her room from my bedroom - three doors down - and look out her window. Surely enough, three chocolatey brown kids are fighting over the one bike that Ms. Willa - a white school teacher who taught me when I still attended grade school - owns. Ms. Willa likes to share her toys with the "less fortunate" because they need to learn how to teach their masters when the stupid presidents realize, once again, that slavery was a good thing. Not a single person in the South liked Mr. Abraham Lincoln for abolishing slavery, even if I wasn't around to know about it.

I sit there next to Isabella, watching the coloreds fight over a small broken, beat-up bicycle that is Ms. Willa's. It's fun too watch the idiots argue over anything they can. It amuses me.

"It's my turn!" One of them - a boy - screech.

"Ask Mama! It's my turn to ride the scooter!" Another one of them - a girl - shouts.

"Mama!" Another girl screams.

Their mother opens the shutters in a very small, beat up house several houses away from Ms. Willa's. "I reckon that you children settle it yourselves so I can cook you all up some dinner. Because of I ain't gonna feed you, no one is!" She slams the shutters.

I fall out of the chair I was sitting in because I was laughing so hard. Isabella pats me on the back and she's laughing, too.

"What-" gasp "-is wrong-" gasp "with them?" Isabella breathes?

"I don't know!" I scream. "Too funny! Where's Mother?"

"At work," Isabella answers. "So is Dad. We're home alone."

"More time to watch these idiots fight!" I yell and high-five her.

My sister. My best friend. The one that will always have my back in making other people suffer.

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