JASMINE: Our school is fuckin' fucked. Bitches can't never mind their own damn business. Gossip whores at every level. It's like--private school for what? For who? Ain't nothin' you do here private! My parents are stupid crazy paying all this money to keep me away from all the kids in my neighborhood cuz they're so damn spooked I'll get pregnant or shot or some shit if I go to public, but I'm like--they must not've ever been in the staircase here at freakin' Fernbrook cuz for reals...it's all types of teen fuckery going on and these rich bitches are the nastiest--straight up. It's like they privilege bought them some extra freak or somethin', or maybe they ain't never known what it's like to be desperate so they rather figure that out through sex or whatever. It's tragic. And I cannot keep myself in this wasteland of talent. Stuck-up girls in my dorm acting like I'm gonna steal their fabric softener or grab their granny panties out the laundry cuz I don't have my own or whatever. Like are you serious? Bitch, I may not have your money, but I have BOTH my mother and father at home workin' their asses off at two jobs just to have me study up here with the rest of you cuz they think your privilege will rub off on me by association or some shit. Or maybe they believe in the false god of this freakin' Fernbrook Academy, that somehow it produces better people and I keep trying to explain to them that someone like me would actually survive better in an environment in which I am COMFORTABLE instead of being the token poor girl of color that everyone thinks is trying to sleep with their pussy-ass boyfriend or take their gotdamn cocaine or crystal meth or whatever, meanwhile the worst shit my friends from the block are smokin' is weed. If it wasn't for Mr. Peterson's science class and Omari, I would slit my wrists. That's why I'm goin' after O. He's not leaving me here to rot with these bougie brainwashed brats. I'm followin' my man. You gonna read about this in one of them urban romance novels. It's called ghetto love.

NYA: I will take a bullet for you. I will suffocate the sun for you. I will steal the sky for you. I will blind Moses for you. I will strip the wind and the rain and the forests for you. Before I let you the or rot or lose your freedom, I will surrender my own. You know that? I would the if you could be born again without this oppressive rage. I just...I don't know what to do. I need you to tell me. Tell me how to save you. Tell me how to give you another life. Tell me what will take this failure away. Because I have listened to everyone else. I'm ready to listen to you. Guide me. Give me the answer. Just give it to me and I'll do it. I swear.

NYA: All my son's life, I thought there was space for him. A little opportunity and education and he'd be complete. But, members of the board, I'm here to tell you that I miscalculated. Omari's actions aren't his bag alone. They're mine. All of ours. We didn't carve out enough space. He doesn't belong anywhere. There is no block. No school. No land he can travel without being under suspicion and doubt. No emotion he can carry without being silenced or disciplined. He needed more space to be.

DUN: You keep thinking this is me? You act like I did something wrong. What did I do wrong? Was I not able to answer your call fast enough? When it's only eight of us working four different schools in one building, did I not reach you fast enough? Did I not run from one hallwav to another at a speed that makes you satisfied? I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry that while I'm sitting up here, barely breaking minimum wage and dealing with the attitudes of a hundred teens and teachers per minute, that I'm not a suitable servant to your beck and call. I do what I fucking can. I'm not Cox--sitting up here stealing computers from the school lab or Bender--flirting with teenage girls. I'm Dun. I'm the last of the good guys wearing a uniform and greeting kids with a smile when they enter the building. I try to make a sunny day out of shit. And I answer every call I get at the security desk. I do my job, damnit. And this time, Laurie, maybe the job got the better of you. That shit happens. But don't go taking me down with you. You get in trouble, you get early retirement. You wanna know what I'd get????--I do my damn job.

XAVIER: The hell you want me to do? You want me to cry and hold you in my arms and rock you to sleep? That's not my gig. I'm still your father. I'm still here.XAVIER: You know what? I don't give a shit if you like me or want to go to the gotdamn basketball court with me or pin a fuckin' tail on my ass--I'm here. I'm the father and you're the kid and that's the law of the land. Like it or hate it. Screw it. I'm here.XAVIER: You're gonna respect me. Don't have to like me. Don't have to enjoy my company. But the respect is nonnegotiable.

OMARI: I was sittin' in class, listenin' to the lesson. Was gonna be a silent observer. Was talkin' about Native Son. I had woke up that day thinkin' 'bout you. Hadn't seen or talked to you in weeks but the check came on time. I woke up with that check in my hands and I had a feeling about that. Like I didn't know what to say but I wanted to say somethin' to you. I called you but you didn't answer. So I went to class. Sittin' there listening to the class talk about Native Son. About the character Bigger Thomas and who he was and what led him to his act of rage. Teacher kept saying he was "unleashed." I kept thinking--animal. And we discussin' this Bigger Thomas. Discussin' his circumstances and what he comes from and this and that. Single mother. That got brought up. One of the students said he only had his mother. And I'm sittin' there listening to this. On a day where I woke up with you on my mind and tried to call you. Tell you I had this feelin' about getting these checks. Tell you I hadn't seen you in a minute. Wonder where you been. But you didn't answer your phone. So I sat there. Listenin' to single mother poor angry animal Bigger Thomas. And when the teacher come askin' me what I thought...I felt like he was sayin' somethin' to me. Like he knew I was sitting there, thinkin' about you, feelin' single mother poor angry animal Bigger Thomas-like. And he start sayin' Mr. Joseph--what made Bigger Thomas do that to that girl? What were his social limitations? What made the animal in him explode? And he lookin' at me. But also through me. And I say, I don't want to talk about it. Cuz all I'm thinking about is you. And how I haven't talked to you in weeks but I get this check on time. Like it's automated.

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LAURIE: My daughter’s fucking obsessed with it, that's all I know. I mean, what the hell happened to teenagehood? I remember dyeing my hair orange and piercing my nose to rage against the status quo. That was a sort of cause, y'know? But now, it's just all mascara and fashion and next top supermodel housewife of bla bla bla--what the hell are we doing, you know? Are they growing down? And the substitute was an idiot. I asked my kids what'd they do while I was gone. Three weeks while I was gone. You know nobody could give me a straight answer? Then Alejandro finally cracks. Watched The Wire, Season Four--he tells me.

It was the cute young blond straight outta Teachers College. Patricia or Patrice or some shit. What the hell are they teaching them over there? The last sub they sent me showed 'em Dangerous Minds. Do they really believe public school is Michelle Pfeiffer and Hilary Swank and corny fucking music and close-ups? I'm a white chick who has never had the luxury of winning over a class full of black and Latino kids. This is war. Got my fucking face cut by the family of a failing student. Fuck them and their lies and the substitutes that show them these dumb-ass god-forsaken setting-us-back-300-educational-years bullshit flicks. TEACH, you assholes! I left you lesson plans for fuck's sake!