I Rise – A Journey of Courage, Activism, and Personal Growth

 

I Rise – Marie Arnold

Some stories do more than tell—they make you feel. I Rise is one of those stories. (Pause here; let the weight of that sink in.)

Marie Arnold, born in Haiti and raised in the United States, has spent her career exploring identity, resilience, and belonging in a world that often refuses to see or hear marginalized voices. (Emphasize “identity, resilience, and belonging”) In I Rise, she turns her gaze toward Harlem and the daily reality of racism, showing what it truly feels like to grow up Black in America—(slowly, to emphasize each phrase)—to navigate spaces where your skin alone can shape every glance, every word, every expectation.

The novel follows fourteen-year-old Ayo, daughter of a prominent civil rights activist. Her life is steeped in protest chants, speeches, and the pulse of a movement demanding change. (Pause slightly after “change” to let the reader feel the rhythm of activism.) When her mother is injured in a protest, Ayo is confronted not only with grief and fear but also with the heavy expectation that she will rise in her mother’s stead—while still trying to claim her own adolescence, voice, and sense of self. (Stress “voice” and “sense of self.”)

Through Ayo’s eyes, racism is not abstract. (Pause for emphasis.) It is the glance that lingers too long at school, the whispered judgments in the neighborhood, the offhand comments that sting more than shouts. It is the constant, invisible pressure to prove oneself, the way ordinary spaces become tests of endurance, the loneliness of living in a world that questions your right to exist fully. Every day, every encounter carries the weight of legacy, expectation, and systemic inequities that cannot simply be ignored. (Slow pacing to convey heaviness.)

Arnold captures the cost of this reality—the simmering anger, quiet terror, and exhaustion of vigilance—but also the sparks of courage that arise from love, community, and the desire to honor one’s convictions. Ayo’s journey becomes a meditation on identity, resilience, and the difficult balance between honoring a legacy and forging one’s own path. (Slightly slower here, for reflective impact.)

At its heart, I Rise asks readers to inhabit this experience, to feel the stakes of truth-telling, and to recognize that activism is lived, personal, and often painful. (Pause here to let the words resonate.) It asks: when the world tries to silence you, when every word and action is scrutinized, will you rise?

Ayo’s story is not just Harlem or America—it reflects the experiences of young people everywhere and the courage it takes to maintain hope, voice, and integrity in the face of systemic injustice. (End with a slow, deliberate pause.)

---

Part 2: Reading Segment 1 

Reading Script with Cues – Harlem Excerpt

I drained all the color out of Harlem. (slow, dramatic; pause) I made the wind so angry it’s pounding on the window like po-po at the front door. (emphasize “po-po”; slightly tense) I even made the tree branches mad—so mad, they bend away from me. (pause; slight emphasis on “so mad”)

Everyone who looks out the window thinks it’s just a cold, gray day in September, (soft, observational; pause) but I know the truth: Harlem is giving me the side-eye. (emphasize “side-eye”; playful, slightly defiant)

But despite my neighborhood’s tantrum, I will follow through with my plans. (firm; pause) I can’t keep putting it off. (slow, deliberate) I had all summer to break the news to my mother and I didn’t. (slightly regretful; pause) I stayed silent. (short, heavy pause) Well, no more. (emphasize; resolute)

Do you hear me, Harlem? (pause; speaking to the window) You can howl and roar all you want; today is the day I claim my freedom. (emphasize “claim my freedom”; strong, determined)

I nod pointedly at the window and turn my attention back to homeroom. (soft; pause)

We’re only a week into the new school year and most of the students have already broken up into groups. (observational; slow)

There’s a bunch of guys in the back of the room gathered in a circle. (pause; slight curiosity) They bounce in rhythm to the music coming from their mini speaker. (emphasize “bounce in rhythm”; playful)

I call them the Knights, short for “Knights of the Hip-Hop Round Table.” (dramatic; slight pause) They love hip-hop and live to argue about every aspect of it. (playful; pause) Their discussions are generally peaceful—except for the time they were arguing about who the greatest rapper was and someone said “Drake.” (pause; incredulous)

Drake? (short, sharp; pause) Seriously? (emphasize; incredulous tone)

Sitting across from the Knights are a group of girls with long nails and even longer weaves. (observational; pause) They’re perfectly put together, from their sculpted eyebrows to their designer boots. (emphasize “perfectly put together”; pause) For them, mirrors are a religion and Rihanna is their high priestess. (playful; pause)

I call them the Narcs after Narcissus, the hunter in Greek mythology who was so vain, he fell in love with his own reflection. (pause; reflective)

But don’t get it twisted—vain doesn’t always mean stupid. (emphasize; pause) Last year they held a workshop during lunch called Lace Front for Beginners. (slightly impressed) They charged twenty bucks a head and cleaned up. (pause; emphasis on “cleaned up”) And now they have their own YouTube channel, with over three hundred thousand followers. (slightly impressed; pause)

A few feet away from the Narcs is a small tribe of kids with their heads buried in their textbooks. (observational; pause) In addition to their love of all things academic, they have an affinity for old-school stuff—like Richard Pryor T-shirts and Nintendo games. (playful; pause) I don’t know why, but something about the past seems to make them really happy. (soft; pause) So, I call them Vintage. (emphasize; pause)

Standing in the opposite corner are the basketball players and cheerleaders. (observational; pause) They don’t get a nickname. (slightly humorous) God already gave them enough. (dry humor; pause)

I look up at the clock on the wall; class will start soon. (pause; soft tension) I go to unzip my backpack, but I feel a sharp pain just below my shoulder. (emphasize “sharp pain”; pause)

“Ow!” (short, surprised; pause) I shout as I turn to the desk behind me. (slightly dramatic)

“Hello? I asked you a question,” my best friend, Naija, says. (playful; pause) “What are you doing later?” (pause; teasing)

“Looking for new friends, ones who don’t resort to violence to get my attention,” I grumble as I try to inspect the mark she left on me. (emphasize “don’t resort to violence”; pause)

“Girl, I called your name three hundred times. (playful; pause) And as usual, you were dumbing out.” (emphasize; playful) I’m sure she only called my name once or twice; Naija’s being extra. (pause; playful) It’s her way. (short pause)

I turn toward her and playfully announce, “Queen Naija, oh great one, I’m sorry I wasn’t listening. (emphasize “Queen Naija, oh great one”) Please honor me with your sacred thoughts.” (slightly dramatic; pause)

She rolls her eyes. (playful; pause) “Do you wanna come to my house later?” (pause; teasing)

“I can’t. I’m having dinner with my mom. Tonight’s the night.” (pause; determined)

Her eyes nearly pop out of her head. (dramatic; pause) “You’re gonna tell your mom today? For real this time?” (emphasize “for real this time”; pause)

“Yeah. I have a plan. I’ll tell you about it later.” (pause; confident)

“Well, knowing your mama, it better be good,” she warns me. (slightly dramatic; pause)

One of the girls from Narc—Joy Mitchell—looks up from her pink compact and calls out to me, (slightly playful; pause) “Ayo, I saw the words ‘How Much?’ spray-painted on the back wall of the precinct on One Thirty-Fifth and at the nail shop by my house.” (pause; curious)

One of the Knights shouts, (emphasize “shouts”) “My girl Toni said she saw it on a sticker in front of the post office and the supermarket. (pause) And yesterday, I saw it on a banner outside the laundromat.” (emphasize; pause)Part 3: Reading Segment 2 (3 mins

Excerpt 

Reading Segment – Middle Section

The turnout for the protest is bigger than any of us could have

anticipated; tens of thousands of demonstrators converge on the Manhattan

streets. They carry signs letting us know where they hail from. Many of the

people are from the outer boroughs, but a great number of them are from

out of state.

The victims’ families—including Davis Brown—march alongside my

mom and other top members of See Us. The front line of the protest is a

who’s who of Black leadership. It’s not only Black people marching—

people from all backgrounds are joined together and demand an end to

police brutality. The energy of the crowd is electrifying and sends goose

bumps down my arms.

The CNN reporter goes over to a group of counterprotesters, a small but

seriously vocal group who shout slurs and accusations at the crowd. They

accuse the crowd of being antiwhite and anticops. They vow to stop us from

ruining “their” country. Their faces are red with ire at what they feel is an

attack on law enforcement. The reporter tries to remain professional, but it’s

clear she’s taken aback by the aggressive tone of the counterprotesters.

The reporter asks the cameraman to pan out so the people at home can

get a sense of just how large the crowd has gotten. He’s right, the crowd’s

grown and so has the police presence. We’ve had many heated protests, but

none on this scale. The protest makes its way to in front of the Thirty￾Second Precinct on 135th Street, where the officers who shot Davis Brown

work. The roar of the crowd grows to a deafening pitch, and my mom is

given the microphone. She calmly takes center stage.

She doesn’t just settle for naming general groups—she calls out specific

people in the police department and in the mayor’s office. She warns them

the crowd is not there to ask for equality but to demand it. She eloquently

gives voice to the rage and frustration of the demonstrators. She points out

that the time for asking is over. The crowd goes crazy. She demands that

they take instead of waiting to be given the equal protection they were

promised. The crowd was already pumped up, but by the time my mom is

done, a new kind of fire has been ignited.

I put the TV on mute and turn my back to the screen. I find myself

hugging my knees to my chest. I bury my face and form a ball.

“What’s wrong?” Devonte asks.

I look into his eyes and marvel at just how warm they are. Then I think

about how little it matters. When he gets stopped by the cops, none of it will

matter. They won’t know that he uses humor to hide his insecurities. It

won’t matter to them that he holds doors open for girls or makes the best

hot chocolate in the world. They will see what most see when they look at

him . . . a reason to fear.

Alternative section for reading 2 part 3

“Hell no, I don’t smoke. Cigarette companies disproportionately target

Black communities. They spend a lot more money to market to us than they

do in white neighborhoods. They also ensure the prices of cigarettes are

lower in our neighborhoods so that we keep coming back for more . . .”

Okay, stop right there, Ayo. You don’t need to—

“They use Black magazines, hip-hop events, and even civil rights

organizations to target us. They try to get to us any way they can because

it’s an investment. If they can get a Black kid hooked now, by the time that

kid is an adult, they become loyal customers. It’s so nuts, because when we

get sick—which is guaranteed when it comes to smoking—we don’t get the

same care as our white counterparts. We’re basically paying for our own

demise.”

Damn.

Everyone is staring at me like an alien sprouted from my Afro and is

now peeing on my head. I desperately try to save it. “But it’s cool if you

want to smoke—who am I to judge you . . . Yay, cancer!” I add awkwardly.

I’m relieved when the basement door opens and we’re interrupted; two

more kids join us. The guy’s name is Franklyn. He’s in my math class and

wears a low fade. The white girl whose hand he’s holding has light eyes,

blond hair, and a warm smile.

“Y’all, this is Chloe,” Franklyn says. Everyone nods politely.

We talk, laugh, and act stupid for nearly an hour. I wish Nai was here;

she’d like this vibe. Things are going pretty well, apart from my tobacco

company tirade earlier. I’m actually enjoying myself. And even though I

haven’t had any alcohol or drugs, I feel high. It’s a natural high, the kind

you get when you feel like you’re where you belong.

---

1. Reading Script with Cues – Part 4: Segment 3

   And now, I think it’s pretty clear that I must be suffering from some kind of head injury, (slow, confused; pause) because I have no idea what she just said. (pause; incredulous)

   She reads my confused expression and says, (soft, observational) “It’s Klingon. It means, ‘If you cannot control yourself, you cannot command others.’” (emphasize “cannot control yourself, you cannot command others”; slightly serious)

   “Oh. Okay . . .” (short pause; uncertain)

   I get a text from Nai and reply, letting her know what happened. (soft, matter-of-fact) She asks if I’m okay. I have no idea if I am or not. But I let her know I will be there as soon as I can. (pause; reflective)

   “Come on into this kitchen and get something hot inside you. It’ll be good for the shock.” (firm, guiding tone)

   I follow Mrs. Wright into the kitchen because her tone doesn’t really allow room for arguing. (soft; pause) She asks how my mom is, and I don’t reply. I guess that tells her everything she needs to know. (short pause; reflective)

   She puts a pot on the stove and lights the burner. (observational; pause) She has me sit at the table, where Captain Kirk is looking up at me from a coaster. (slight humor; pause)

   “Now look, that white woman had it coming. She’s been doing that for a while now. But she’s not the one in the wrong—you are.” (serious; pause)

   I hang my head. (soft; reflective) “Yeah, I know. I can’t believe I launched at her like that.” (pause; guilty)

   “That’s not what I’m talking about.” (firm; pause)

   I look up at her with a blank stare. (pause; reflective)

   “Look, when white folks leave the house, they make sure that things are the way they should be. (slow, explanatory) They check to see if they got their house keys, if they turned off all the lights, and once outside, they check the gauge on the gas tank. (slight emphasis on “check the gauge on the gas tank”) Do they have enough to take them to work and get them back home, or do they need to stop at the gas station? (pause; rhetorical)

   “We do the same things, except we have an extra step. We gotta stand in front of the mirror and ask ourselves one very important question: (emphasize “one very important question”) What is my white-people tolerance level today?” (pause; serious; reflective)

   “I guess I didn’t today. If I had, I’d have stayed home,” I admit. (soft; pause; reflective)

   She goes over to the stove and pours a white powder into the boiling water. (observational; pause) It soon makes a sticky white paste. Mrs. Wright fixes me a plate of fufu and fish sauce. (soft, descriptive; pause) I wasn’t going to eat, but she insists, and the smell of all the spices makes my mouth water. (pause; slight humor)

   “You think I’ll get in trouble?” I ask before taking my first bite. (pause; worried)