ABSTRACT
It’s a rainy Monday morning and I just walked into Sugar Academy (a pseudonym), a relatively new KIPP Academy located somewhat centrally in an urban Capitol of a mid-western city. The oversized black-and-white clock on the wall posted outside the main office reads 8:45; I’m 15 minutes early for my meeting with the principal whose actual title—“school master”—seemed a bit antiquated, not to mention reminiscent of a salutation that Southern slave owners demanded of their subordinates under threat of physical abuse and unforgiving whippings. Nevertheless, I was invited to the school that day as a student success consultant and my worries about his professional title would need to await a future meeting. I opened the very heavy, metal door that appeared under the sign reading, “Main Office,” and approached a wide-eyed, blonde-haired Black woman who stood at the reception counter.
