Read the first excerpt of Muted, Tami Charles' new YA novel in verse
Muted, the highly-anticipated new YA novel from Tami Charles, is a story — told in verse — inspired by real-life events surrounding the Me Too movement and its affect on Black girls. Below, read an excerpt from the groundbreaking tome.
**
According to Instagram
Sean “Mercury” Ellis was inside the Prudential. Mic check done, ready to hit the streets,
grab a bite, before the concert began.
And so we all stood
beneath the sun.
Hope filling up,
fingers crossed that he’d float out,
like Black Jesus,
invite someone, anyone
onto that tour bus parked at the corner.
And I tell you, just like in the movies,
those doors flew open,
pupils combusted.
Stares turned to whispers,
whispers bubbled up
to loud chants.
“Merc is here!”
“Merc is here!”
Hella pissed
’cause I couldn’t see nothing.
Just heard the claps echoing,
up, down, and all around
Lafayette like a parade.
Felt the huddle grow tighter.
A stampede of epic proportions
swallowed me, Shak, and Dali
whole.
“Can I get a selfie, Merc?”
voices cried out.
My eyes found a clearing,
zoomed in on a giant
hovering above the crowd.
Security.
Big head stacked on big shoulders,
stacked on even bigger arms,
swatting video thots
like gnats in summer.
I grabbed hold of Shak and Dali,
forced our bodies away from the crowd,
inched closer toward the tour bus.
“It’s no use,” Dali said.
But I didn’t hear her hear her because my eyes studied
the sea of red-bottom shoes and Timberland boots,
and finally,
I saw the only pair that mattered—
diamond encrusted Air Force 1s.
“He’s coming this way. Shak, connect the speaker!
Pull up the track!” I yelled.
And so began Mrs. Doubtfire with the questions.
“Right here? Right now? On the street?”
I snatched my phone from her,
clicked play,
and let that C minor 7th chord
do what it do.
And by do, I mean SAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!
Dali came in with that soprano note,
high enough to crack a hole
in the sky.
Me and Shak
swerved in beneath her,
the perfect alto-tenor blend.
If music were a color,
ours woulda been blue-red-green
ocean meets fire meets earth,
and I’m not just saying that
’cause those were my lyrics,
my chords, my literal heartbeat . . . in a beat.
I say it because
the minute we unleashed our voices, noise canceled,
Air Force 1s emerged,
each diamond
bringing more sunshine with it.
Sean “Mercury” Ellis.
Shades slid
to the tip of his nose.
Gray eyes sparkling
beneath the midday sun.
Homeboy was snapping,
swerving,
grooving to “Shoot Your Shot,”
our song—
my song.
Time stood still as
verse blended into chorus,
into the final,
belting, universe-breaking
note.
Applause, thunderously loud.
Eyes upon eyes stared us down.
But there was only one set I cared about.
“That was dope,” Merc said. “Y’all wrote that?”
“Denver did.” Dali giggled, then covered her braces with her left hand.
There was no time to be shy,
not when the chance to fly
was right in our faces.
“We’re Angelic Voices, an R&B group, from PA. Looking to score a record deal.”
I handed Merc the business card I printed at home . . .
like a freaking BOSS!
Whispers from the crowd spread like disease.
“Ain’t getting no record deal looking like that.
’Specially McThickums.”
But I didn’t hear them hear them,
’cause I was too busy
breathing in the same air as Merc.
He leaned in and I knew what was coming next:
“Yooooo, what’s up with your eyes?”
Same reaction I get
whenever someone
meets me for the first time.
Always starts with a stare,
a lean,
a question
(or three).
And for me,
an answer that I
spent the past seventeen
years rehearsing
down to the last word...
Heterochromia
As in:
two eyes
two different colors
one blue
one brown
part ocean
part earth
made of both.
As in:
a genetic mutation
the crashing of
two genes
Heterochromia
As in:
two eyes
two different colors
one blue
one brown
part ocean
part earth
made of both.
—a miraculous disaster in the making—
No, I don’t have a white parent!
(Even though that blue eye came from Ma’s German granddaddy.)
I’m Black mixed with Black mixed with magic.
And no, I ain’t wearing contacts!
So, LAWD HAVE MERCY
can we get back to the discussion at hand, sir?!?
(I didn’t quite say all that tho.)
“Angelic Voices, huh?
That’s real cute,” Merc said.
“So are those eyes of yours.
Good luck with the songwriting, baby gurl.”
He. Called. Me. Baby.
Security stepped forward,
side-swatting us
like gnats in summer,
while Sean “Mercury” Ellis,
wrapped in a trio of video thots
made his way onto the bus.
And right there,
on the corner of Lafayette,
I almost emptied myself
of wishing, hoping, dreaming.
Almost.
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